Am Is Are Was Were Be Being Been
by ChaosKirin
Summary: Science. Micky's passion. Perhaps also something with which he shouldn't be tampering, but he makes a time machine anyway. Of course, the intent is to pick up chicks, but none of the Monkees counted on the Cretaceous variety.
1. Chapter 1

"I gotta hand it to ya, Mick, it looks exactly like a trash can with wheels."

Funny. Hilarious. Also true, Micky thought to himself, scratching his chin. Except for the fact that trash cans were a lot smaller, not to mention the fact that most garbage containers didn't have four large tires attached to them. Really, locomotion was a vestigial feature, since the contraption didn't actually need to move, and there was nothing vehicular about it that would suggest that it SHOULD move. Looking at Mike, Micky replied, "You have to admit, everything looks cooler with wheels."

After a brief glance at his curly-haired friend, Mike gave a conceding shrug, then added, "Was the paint on the floor necessary? 'Cuz y'know Babbit's gonna add that onto our rent."

Dismissively, Micky waved a hand. "If it becomes a problem, this thing can fix it. Trust me."

He should not have been surprised when Mike arched an eyebrow at him, given certain recent happenings. Without taking his eye off Micky, he said, "Davy, get The List."

The shortest member of their band sat halfway up the spiral staircase, smirking at Micky with a half mischievous, half pitying look in his eye. As soon as Mike made his request, though, Davy snickered, and quickly disappeared into the upstairs bedroom. A quick glance at Peter in the kitchen for some sort of answer only earned Micky a shrug.

Did they— Did they doubt him and the genius of this incredible machine? How could they not see the wonder and potential in its (admittedly slap-dash) frame? Had they really missed the cleverness in the execution of his timer device made out of salvaged alarm clocks? Perhaps they were offended somehow by the button clearly labeled 'emergency use only' in pink crayon. No, it must have been the cardboard casing around the circuitry that earned their distrust, because even Micky had to admit, that decision had been a little desperate. His friends just had to embrace the future, though, and that was that.

…Only the future wasn't exactly inviting, with its rusty outer shell and it's frayed wires and its four unnecessary wheels and the television screen that had to sit turned on its side because it was the only way Micky could get it to fit where it needed to go. The future kind of looked untrustworthy.

"Got it! Got it here, hang on…" Davy waved a small stack of papers over the railing on the second floor, before straightening them up for proper recitation. "Ahem. A List of Cause and Effect, by Michael Nesmith."

Davy made a sweeping, formal gesture with one arm. Mike bowed.

"January second," Davy went on. "Micky says 'Trust Me.' Microwave catches fire. Fire turns ceiling blue." Four sets of eyes looked toward the blue smudge above the appliance. As of yet, Babbit was not entirely convinced that said blue smudge was artwork, as the four of them claimed.

"January twelfth. Micky says 'Trust Me.' Peter discovers the hard way that cats don't make good back scratchers."

He flipped to the next page. "February thirtieth. Micky says 'Trust Me. There are thirty days in February.' Monkees miss March first gig."

Davy's voice trailed off again as he skimmed over the list, turning past a couple pages. "Oh, here's a good one. April ninth. Micky says 'Trust Me.' Next day, five men in HazMat suits quarantine the house for a week in order to verify one Micky Dolenz isn't baking rabies into pies."

"Look, that was an innocent mistake," Micky protested. "How was I supposed to know they'd take me seriously?"

"Last one," Davy said, cutting Micky off. "Promise. April twenty-first. Micky says 'Trust Me.' Hypnotist meant to entertain people at party causes Mike to cluck like a chicken for three days."

Wistfully, Mike said, "Sometimes ah still get this weird craving for chicken feed." Shaking his head to bring himself back to reality, Mike fixed Micky with a stern glare. "Your track record's shoddy, son. And with what you're on about claimin' this thing can do, well, you can understand why we'd all be just a little reluctant to jump in head-first when you say 'trust me.'"

"Please?" Micky begged. All he wanted was for them to believe him this time, because if it worked — WHEN it worked, rather — it would end up being the grooviest thing any of them would ever see. He really believed it, too. "I built this thing from the ground up. Wire by wire, wheel by wheel, box by box. Irradiated rock by irradiated rock."

Alarmed, Michael paled.

"I'm kidding."

Mostly.

Peter stood up from his seat in the kitchen and approached Michael, and the two of them exchanged a quick glance with Davy, who shrugged. "He did say 'please,' so…"

Mike sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Davy, go on an' add it to the list."

Giddily excited, Micky flipped on the television screen, but just before he was able to go about his safety checks and start-up procedures, Peter laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Micky… What DOES this thing do, anyway?"

Blinking, he looked between the almost-literal bucket of bolts and his light-haired bandmate. "It's not obvious?"

Again, with the endless patience that was his trademark, Mike said, "Enlighten the uninitiated, please."

With a shrug, Micky said simply, "It's a temporal transport. A time machine. I figure, we go forward in time like … I dunno. Ten, twenty years, see what it's like… What?"

He couldn't read the expressions on the faces of the others at first, but watched with rapt interest as they each formed into definitive emotions. Mike rolled his eyes, his demeanor incredulous. He'd always been the most grounded of all of them and hated (or at times, outright denied) the supernatural predicaments into which they'd occasionally found themselves. Even so, the tall young guitar player couldn't completely discount that weird things happened, sometimes without explanation, and that they usually involved one of Micky's brilliant ideas. "What do you mean, 'what?'" Mike asked.

"It's completely daft. You're gonna turn the livin' room into an inferno, mate," Davy said. "And that thing's a lot bigger than a microwave."

Peter, smiling, laid a hand on the trash-can-on-wheels. "I dunno, guys, you know what they say. Third time's the charm, right?"

"Third!" Davy exclaimed, shaking the papers in his hand. "There's fifty documented times that Micky's said 'Trust me' this year that ended in some degree of disaster. If fifty times isn't 'the charm,' that's…"

"…A shoddy track record," Mike finished.

As far as Micky was concerned, despite the continued dubiousness on the part of his housemates, he'd been given the okay, so he was going to start setting things into motion. Resisting the urge to say 'trust me' again, he tuned the television to static, calibrated a bunch of random dials, and flipped the numbers on the clock. "We need to decide how far to go forward," Micky explained.

Behind him, Peter examined the stacked, taped-together clocks, his own enthusiasm waning just a bit when he noticed that they didn't appear particularly stable. "If Babbit hears that TV, he's gonna come up here, you know."

"That's part of the calibration. It gives off the right sound wave pattern," Micky replied. "It's all about sound, and this connection from one point in time to another. Neat, huh? I got the idea from this one guy who said my shoes were ugly, and I told him to take it back, but then I realized he really couldn't 'cuz I'd already heard it and he couldn't take the sound out of my ears or, you know, my brain— "

"So you built a time machine?" Mike asked, incredulously.

Micky shrugged. "Well, yeah. It seems like the obvious escalation to me." The machine started to whine, a high-pitched keen which caused Davy and Peter to cover their ears. Suddenly, Micky was grateful for his earlier decision to use cardboard to cover up the inner workings of his creation, 'cuz they'd have second thoughts if they all got a peek at what it was doing. "Look, before this deafens us, how far forward are we going?"

Micky noted the absolute calm with which Mike leaned on the wall next to the machine. Either he didn't believe any of this would produce results, or he was inwardly fighting a battle to prevent himself from hacking the machine to pieces before it gained sentience and took over the world. He sighed, rolling his eyes. "How 'bout nineteen-eighty-four. Might as well see if George Orwell was onto anything while we're at it."

"Okay, okay…" Micky said, fooling with the clock numbers again. "You gotta stand in the paint— the paint circle on the floor— " Excitedly gesturing to it, he waited for the other three to comply, but they all stood well out of its range, staring at it as if it were full of piranhas.

Grumbling, he took Davy's shoulders, then Peters, and guided them into the target area, where they stood quite tensely in wait. When he was just about to drag Mike along, the taller man held up a hand and cautioned, "Look, ah'll do it myself. I swear to my fuzzy wool hat, though, Micky, if there are any chickens involved, ah'll end this machine."

The warning was less about chickens and more about something going catastrophically awry, of course. Stepping aside, Micky smiled and waved the reluctant Texan onward, before stepping into the circle himself.

Quickly, he realized the flaw in his plan, that with all of them in the circle, no one was left to press the button to make the time machine actually send them forward in time. Snapping his fingers in frustration at this oversight, Micky once again stepped out of the circle in order to procure the nearest object he could find which was also long enough to reach the controls. Returning to the designated location, he held it out over the button, and as he brought it down, Michael realized just a second too late that Micky had grabbed his guitar.

Their departure happened in the blink of an eye and without fanfare. Lacking any feeling or perceived passing of time, they were at one moment at their pad in California, and the next—

The circle of floor on which they'd been standing had come along for the ride, Micky noted, fighting off a wave of vertigo that threatened to knock him off his feet. Curiously, they were outside, supposedly standing in the same spot from which they'd departed. With a look around, he felt his stomach flip-flop while his feet struggled to keep purchase on the displaced piece of their home.

"The machine— where…"

Turning around, he lost his balance and stepped off the circle of flooring and onto the grass. Its sharp edges caught on his pants, making scritchy noises as he stumbled unintentionally away from the others, using the guitar in his hand to keep himself from falling down the slight incline.

Mike managed to catch Davy before the shorter boy toppled, as well, and still found time to chastise Micky for using the guitar as a walking stick. "Hey now, careful with that!" he groused, holding onto Davy's shoulders until the short Englishman nodded to signal he was okay.

Meanwhile, Peter had also stepped one foot off the floor, balancing carefully while looking around at their strange nineteen-eighty-four scenery. Down the hill coursed a swampy river, its banks muddy and uninviting. The sky was cloudy, the humidity almost unbearable, with the sounds of nature around them within the imposing plantlife sounding increasingly hostile. "Guys, I've never seen these kinds of trees before," he squeaked out, backing closer toward Davy.

"S'cuz we live in a city," Mike said, though he didn't seem entirely at ease as he caught up with Micky and confiscated the guitar. "Next time, you warn me 'fore you go usin' this in one of your projects." Pause. "And b'fore you ask, the answer's no."

Interspersed in the scratchy grasses, bright, colorful red and blue flowers grew, their blossoms - if they could be called that - an array of unfamiliar shapes. At present, they stood in the shadow of something that vaguely resembled a palm tree, only its leaves were huge, broad and tear-drop shaped, stretching over them like natural umbrellas. It was definitely one of the stranger things Micky had seen, but he wasn't worried about that at the moment, since his mind was on their missing time machine.

As he continued to take in their surroundings, Peter suddenly pointed across the river and asked, "Hey… What's that?" Hoping his friend had found the missing time machine, Micky turned to look, squinting at the ground.

It was Mike, though, who shielded the sun from his eyes with one hand and looked over the trees. Calmly, as if this were terribly common, he said, "That's a pterodactyl."


	2. Chapter 2

"Nah, don't listen to him, Peter," Micky replied, squinting. The flying animal distracted him momentarily from looking for the time machine. Despite Mike's seemingly stoic nature, he sure knew how to tell a good joke. "You're seein' things, Mike. That's a quetzalcoatlus. See? The lack of the long crest and the wider wingspan?"

Leaning forward, Mike took a second look. "Ah can't quite— Oh, there, I see it now that it's got itself turned about. Sorry, Pete."

The blond boy shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Mike."

Davy added, "Yeah, from this distance— Wait a sec. Guys?"

Micky and Mike locked eyes for a moment, the surprise in them speaking louder than words ever could hope to convey. Then, as their current predicament finally caught up with them, everyone started speaking at once.

"That's a dinosaur!"

"Where the heck are we? WHEN are — "

"That can't be right! What if— "

"It's plain as day! Unless we're all dreamin'!"

"Micky, what did you do!?"

"No, no, I recognize most of these trees— "

"It's gotta be a trick. Maybe a kite— "

"Wait! Wait just a second!" Michael finally broke through the cacophony and brought the others to silence, although no one could help the uneasy glances they were still giving to their environment. "There's a way out, right, Micky? There's a way out? To get home. Micky? Home?" As he continued rephrasing the question, each iteration slightly more high-pitched and desperate than the last, all Micky could do was shake his head until Mike grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him good shake.

"The, uh…" Micky began, fingers tangling up in increasingly frizzy hair. "The principle behind only going FORWARD in time and not back is that… Well, according to theory, for time-related continuity, we would have somehow… I mean, an alternate— Intersecting timelines being what they are… Essentially we would have ensured that the time machine ended up where it needed to be for us to, you know. Get home."

"What're you sayin' Micky?" Davy asked, pushing between Mike and Peter and standing on his tip-toes so he could make a valiant effort at getting into Micky's face.

"Let's just say that we might be here a while." When met with the horrified looks from his housemates, he was quick to add, "But look on the bright side! We get to discover fire!"

Mike's arm twitched, just enough so that Micky, fearing that the Texan was going to smack him with his trusty blondewood guitar, backed up just enough on the incline to lose his footing entirely and stumble backward. With his momentum already adding to the fall, he did a handful of unintentionally acrobatic reverse somersaults and flips until he landed face first in the muddy river water in the shallow valley.

With his clothing soaked through and up to his shoulders in God-Knew-What, he attempted to push himself up, but the exceptionally slick muck caused his hands to slide out from under him again, and his whole front half submerged. Thankfully, that was about the time that Peter and Mike reached him and dragged him, sputtering and spitting, out of the water. When he'd caught his breath, he managed, "That was the worst-tasting mud I've ever had the pleasure of choking on."

Davy patted his back, asking, "You sample the stuff often, then?"

"Not if I can help it." Micky righted himself, sitting farther back from the water on a relatively dry patch of dirt. His chin hurt where he'd hit it on the river bottom, and his body didn't feel very good, either, having had a run-in with the rocks on the hillside. With dirtied hands, he attempted to clean the mud off his face, but only succeeded in smudging it around. "'m lucky I didn't get eaten by alligators or somethin'. Look." He gestured out toward the middle of the water, where two wide-set eyes were staring at them. The gaze was unsettling, evenly calm and unexcited by the goings-on of the four strange animals on shore. "Mike, it's your prehistoric cousin."

"Ha, ha," Mike replied, taking a seat next to Micky and balancing the guitar on his knees. Peter sat down on the other side of the waterlogged Monkee, while Davy remained on his feet, arms crossed. Despite the mud, Micky ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. Their fearless leader sighed. "Well, we'll save the blame for later. Right now, we gotta figure out what we all're gonna do. We got no supplies, no know-how, and a guitar. What d'we do with that?"

The eyes in the middle of the river began to rise up, revealing a long, gaping snout full of razor-sharp teeth. As the creature unburied itself from the river's muddy floor, its body also rose above the surface.

It was the biggest crocodile any of them had every seen.

Standing on two legs, the bright green dinosaur made itself as tall as possible, which was quite a bit taller than even Mike was, staring down through eyes that lacked anything other than predatory hunger. It snapped its long, narrow snout, dribbling water and mud down into the river as it did so. A ridge ran down its spine, segmented by bone, although Micky couldn't immediately identify the species. Even so, it looked a good deal more graceful than the lumbering giants he'd always seen portrayed in books, and a whole lot more real.

It took a single step forward. "I dunno 'bout you guys," Micky said, "But I'm all for running!"

They scrambled over themselves to clamber back up the hill. Certainly the beast would catch up and tear them apart before they could make it to the safety of the densely-growing line of trees just past the hill's crest! The ground shook beneath them as the creature reached the shore and started up the incline after them, but after they reached some invisible boundary, the stomping ceased.

Micky looked over his shoulder just in time to catch an earful of the most epic territorial roar he'd ever heard.

Mike grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him the rest of the way up the hill. After a quick check to ensure everyone still had all their limbs, he motioned them toward the trees again, setting off at a decent clip himself. While it didn't seem like the two-legged crocodile felt like chasing them anymore, none of them really wanted to stick around to play taunt-the-dinosaur.

They reached the forest, where Peter doubled over, his hands brushing against the ground to steady himself so he could catch his breath. Davy leaned heavily against a tree, looking backward through the foliage to catch a glimpse of the retreating dinosaur. "Bloody tyrannosaurus rex or somethin'," he muttered. "Coulda had us for dinner."

Micky had no qualms about lying down on the ground on his back, looking up into the canopy, gasping. "No, not a tyrannosaurus. Too small."

As everyone tried to get their heart rate back to normal, no one spoke for quite a while. The forest was by no means silent, though, with strange grunts and chirps - and the occasional roar - keeping the boys on edge. At the moment, it didn't look like they were about to have a run-in with anything else, but they were all aware that they weren't alone.

"Well, if it wasn't trying to eat us, I think it would have been awfully pretty, for a dinosaur," Peter finally said, settling down in the undergrowth and drawing his knees up. Micky could tell that his voice was strained, though, but a brush with huge, reptilian teeth would do that to anyone. "That emerald green and those yellow spots on its side… Just seemed different than what I imagined."

"They've been updating the books," Micky said.

Mike, who'd been pacing back and forth between a couple trees, joined the others on the ground. He plucked a couple strings on the guitar, apparently just to make sure it still worked, before gingerly setting it against the tree on which he was leaning. "You know a bit about these things, Mick?" he asked.

Micky nodded. "Yeah, I was all about dinosaurs when I was a kid. But, I mean, I don't know 'em all. That one that just chased us was too small to be spinosaurus, but it kinda looked like it. Maybe a baby." That seemed likely. It was also just as likely that they'd just stumbled upon a completely unknown species, given the rate at which new varieties were discovered. He couldn't say much more other than the fact that he knew it wasn't a tyrannosaurus. "We could still see the ol' king of reptiles, though," he added with a look around. Despite the odd trees and foliage, there were a few trees he recognized - ones that only appeared near the end of the Mesozoic era.

"No thanks," Davy grumbled.

"Look," Mike said. "Let's talk about that missing time machine of yours for a sec."

With a humorless laugh, Micky dropped his head so that his chin rested against his chest. He remained in that position until Mike cleared his throat in an attempt to pull some answers out of the person responsible for their trip through time. On one hand, the time machine actually worked - this was amazing. On the other… "This… is a mess. There's no other way to put it," Micky said. "The thing wasn't even designed to go BACKWARD for a lot of reasons. First and foremost is the fact that it didn't appear here with us. Let's be honest, if we'd gone forward in time and lost it, I would have been able to build another one, easy."

"Easy, he says," Davy said, chuckling. "Micky, some of the things you manage…"

"But there's another problem," Micky noted.

"You mean like food? I'm starving," Peter whined. "And I think the more I think about the fact that there's nothing to eat around here, the hungrier I get!"

"What ARE we gonna do about food?" Mike wondered to himself.

Davy, finally rested, got to his feet and brushed himself off. "Well, I'm sure if we go up the river a bit, we can find clean water, and probably some fish. There's fish around, yeah, Mick?"

"Yes, but I really think you should listen— "

"There's lots of plants around," Peter added. We should be able to find something that isn't toxic."

"HEY!" Micky yelled. For a moment, even the forest became quiet, but the silence only lasted for a couple seconds before the creatures around them started up again. "Listen. We gotta be careful not to do anything here that's gonna affect the future. We could create a paradox, like, 'if you kill your grandfather here, you can never be born' type of thing."

"My grandfather ain't a tyrannosaurus, Mick," Mike said.

"See, that there's the problem!" Micky got to his feet, anxiously pacing. "If we go fishing, we could, I don't know, kill and eat the first fish that was supposed to crawl up on land, so its evil uncle fish gets there instead and there's all that evolution stuff that happens and we get home only to find that humans walk on their hands and have six eyes."

"Considering there's dinosaurs, ah think that ship's already sailed," Mike said. "You can't see the harm in fishin', can ya? The critters around here probably do it all the time. If we just make sure we don't do anything crazy like start building hotels, I don't think we're going to affect the future much at this point."

While that was probably true and the odds of any one of them affecting the future in any significant way were exceptionally low, it still stuck in the forefront of Micky's thoughts. Comic books said quite clearly that one just didn't mess with the past - it was asking for trouble. Even so, it didn't make sense that they could do any significant damage at this point in time, unless they managed to kill one of their early ancestors. "Okay… Okay, no interaction with any proto-primates and we should be fine." By this time, there would be a few mammals, if Micky remembered correctly. As long as they didn't cause harm to any of them, their future would certainly be secure.

Probably.

"Look, we're prob'ly safer deeper into the forest," Mike said. "Can't see anythin' that big livin' in these trees, an' if we run into any of the smaller ones, we should be all right. We'll just kick 'em."

"No, no wait— " Micky started, but since Mike was already moving off and the others were following, he didn't have the chance to point out that there could be quite a few dangerous tiny dinosaurs, as well. Still, odds would have to be in their favor since the run-in with the large reptile they met in the river, because only so much could befall any one person on any one day.

Really.


	3. Chapter 3

Along the way, they tried to avoid the disconcerting sounds they heard around them - in general, the loud crashes and grunts and roars. Theoretically, this would keep them away from anything that would potentially be able to eat them, thus, they'd remain safe. Along with their caution, Michael was correct in his assumption that larger animals wouldn't bother hiding themselves within the trees, because they hadn't seen anything larger than a golden retriever. Mostly, they spotted a few toads and a snake or two, and a whole lot of wasps and hornets.

One species of dinosaur did cross their path now and then, as it chased after the flying insects. Only a couple feet long, it would dart easily among the trees, using them as springboards and expertly catching its prey in mid air. There were several of them around at any given time, none seeming to pay any special attention or have any fear for the four humans walking among them. In fact, at one point, Peter was almost tripped up by one darting between his legs and vaulting off his shin to catch a particularly annoying prehistoric bumble bee.

"You see these things?" Peter asked, despite his near fall. "Cute, aren't they? They look like little birds."

His assessment pretty much described them perfectly, although Micky had no idea what they could possibly be. "Yeah," he said. "I THINK they're dinosaurs, but nothin' I ever read said they looked like this." He turned his head as one darted by him, noting the rather dull color of the feathers on the creature's body, which contrasted with a bright blue crest running down its neck. Its hands were certainly clawed, but the configuration of pinions on its forelimbs made it look like it had wings. "Feathers. I wonder if there are any dinosaurs with hair."

All of them knew a little about these ancient creatures - that they were reptilian, cold-blooded, and mostly slow-moving - but this all seemed to throw those theories out the window with one fell swoop. This 'little bird' dinosaur was fast - none of them would be able to catch it if they tried - and with the feathers, Micky imagined that they probably weren't reptilian at all. There had been certain unaccepted theories he'd read, since science was one of his passions, but this seemed to confirm that dinosaurs had at least something in common with birds.

The farther they walked, though, the less they saw of the little creatures, until there weren't any at all. Even the insects had thinned out, due to the fewer number of flowers in the increasingly claustrophobic forest.

"Where are we going?"

According to Micky's watch, they'd been walking for a couple hours.

Mike turned around. With the stickyness in the air, he'd taken off his hat and perched it atop the neck of his guitar, which was slung over his back. "I think if we keep goin', the forest'll break up a little an' we can find a place to stop for the night," he said. His hair was slicked back and damp thanks to the heat and humidity, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. Additionally, the circles under his eyes looked even darker, which indicated creeping exhaustion, in addition to carefully disguised anxiety. "Ah don't wanna be in the middle of all these trees when it gets dark."

"How d'you know the forest will open up?" Davy asked. He, too, looked worse for wear. Sometime along the line, he'd snagged a sleeve on a fallen tree branch and ended up ripping both of them off. Knowing a good idea when they saw one, the others did likewise, which at least alleviated a little of the heat. They'd been about to toss them away when Micky brought up the fact that they couldn't just leave something from the future this far in the past… so Mike held onto them inside the guitar. They would, he noted, make decent bandages anyway, if the need arose.

To Davy's question, Mike shrugged. "Ah don't. I'm countin' on my charm to bribe all these trees into givin' us a break. If I keep tryin', it'll work eventually." With a reassuring smile, he winked, and kept right on walking.

He seemed to know an awful lot about forests for being from a state made up of mostly desert. Even so, the trees did seem to grudgingly become less dense as they continued walking, although the canopy above them hesitated to let in more sunlight. After another half hour or so, the forest finally started to open up in earnest, and the vegetation underfoot started becoming much greener and vibrant than the brown, dead scrub brush they'd been walking on previously.

Peter chatted back and forth with Mike as they searched for a good place to take a break, although Micky was less interested in their conversation than he was in his own thoughts, which had turned back to how they were going to get home. It would take him an eternity to actually craft all the materials from hand AND figure out how to power the thing. There were also all the parts inside the cardboard casing that he hadn't told the others about, collected over the years for their unique, potentially useful properties. He'd almost been telling the truth when he mentioned irradiated rocks as a building material, since there was a meteorite involved, and that was just the start of it.

When Micky invented tools, he'd have to figure out how to invent electricity, too. And cardboard.

Hopeless.

"Hey," Peter said, the cheerfulness in his voice pulling Micky out of his dour thoughts. From a few paces ahead of Mike, the blond had his hand cupped around his ear as he struggled to hear something in the distance. "Do you guys hear that?

They all stopped walking, listening through the chattering and growling wildlife to try to pick out whatever Peter was hearing. After a moment, Micky picked out the sound out of all the others. "It sounds like…"

"…Running water!" Davy finished. They all looked at each other - this was the first little scrap of hope they'd gotten since arriving - and as one, broke into a sprint toward the source.

All except for Michael, who continued at exactly the same pace as before. "It ain't goin' nowhere!" he called. "Y'don't have to run and spook all the critters!"

But run they did, and when Davy abruptly halted a foot in front of him, Peter nearly ran him over. Unable to stop in time, Micky ran into them both, and the only reason they didn't all topple was because Peter had braced himself against a tree. "What'd you stop for?" the drummer asked, looking into Davy's face. The shorter man's eyes were wide, and fixed straight ahead.

They'd almost run directly into a small herd of horse-sized dinosaurs. As it stood, the beasts had already picked up their scent, and were shuffling around uneasily, looking for its source. "C'mon…" Peter whispered. "Just back away slowly…"

Unlike the tiny, hopping thing they'd seen in the forest, these stood on four legs and were almost reminiscent of pigs or cows. Their bodies were brown and green, but not scaled as Micky had expected such an animal to be. Instead, their skin was rough and wrinkly, almost like the hide of an elephant or rhinoceros. Its shape was sort of like a triceratops, except these lacked both the size and the imposing horns of their larger cousins, although they did have a flat shield-like crest on the backs of their heads. Some of them showed more color than others, with bright red spots on their crests. These were the ones who turned toward the boys, forming a protective circle around the smaller hatchlings among them.

The three Monkees kept their distance, partially hiding themselves among the trees. The cow-like dinosaurs eventually went back to shuffling along the river, grabbing a drink of water or a mouthful of the ferns which seemed to grow plentifully in the area. At least these didn't want to fight or chase them.

"I'd say it'd be better if we headed upstream," Michael said quietly as he caught up with them and took a look at what had his bandmates so worried. "That way, we aren't botherin' them none, and we can find a spot to sit and … figure out how we're gonna light a fire."

They didn't go far. With the hope that they might be done walking for a little while and actually would have a chance to rest and figure out how they were going to make it here, millions of years in the past, exhaustion finally started creeping up on them. The aches Micky felt from rolling down the hill were also a deciding factor; when he vocalized his discomfort, Michael finally gave up, found a sandy area beside the river, and allowed the all to sit down. Taking some rocks from the surrounding area, he built a makeshift guitar stand so the instrument he'd been carrying wouldn't be sitting right in the damp sand.

"I don't understand why you don't just leave it," Micky said, stretching out on the ground.

Mike, meanwhile, was pulling large rocks out of the stream, which they'd be able to use to fashion a fire pit - provided they could even build a fire. "'cuz I like how it plays, that's why."

Davy, despite his aversion to getting his hands dirty, was digging a small hollow out of the sand, as directed by Mike. "We could get you another one, mate. I mean, sure they're expensive, but you've been rubbin' your shoulders 'cuz it's heavy and all that."

"Mm-hm," Mike muttered. "Didn't think you'd notice that." He paused, massaging his neck where the strap had been rubbing against it. "There's more to it than that, though. If ah need to, ah can use it as a weapon. Plus, it's got the metal strings, I'm sure those'll come in handy." Again, he went back to pulling rocks out of the river, before adding, "And that's all IF WE NEED TO. I ain't pullin' Blonde Beauty apart unless there's no other option. Micky?"

Uh-oh. Mike was going to ask him to do something. Maybe if he just laid there and pretended he was sleeping…

"Micky."

No answer.

"Ah know you ain't asleep. Get up. We gotta see if we can start a fire. Go on an' get some sticks and stuff - you know." He approached the drummer and prodded his ribs with the toe of his boot. "C'mon now, git. It's gonna be dark in a couple hours, and we gotta figure out how to keep some light on."

Micky squirmed and shoved Mike's foot away. "Cut that out, it tickles," he muttered, pushing himself back to his feet. Dear whatever-god-thought-sending-them-to-the-Cretaceous-was-a-Good-Idea, that hurt. "I'm goin', just relax."

"And Peter," Mike said, now that Micky was on his feet.

The blond boy looked up from collecting twigs near the edge of the forest. Unlike Micky, he seemed ready and willing to do anything to help, but that was just Peter all over. He wasn't going to let something like being stuck millions of years from home dampen his spirits. "Yeah, Mike?"

"You go see if you can find us somethin' to eat. Just… Be careful of poison ivy and stuff."

Micky was about to argue that maybe Peter should go look for firewood, and Micky could find them something to eat. Of course, finding something to eat was a lot of work, too, since Micky's first reaction would be to try fishing, which would involve begging Mike to pull the strings off his guitar. When that inevitably failed - because Mike was a stubborn mule - he'd have to try to form a spear out of a stick, which would mean grinding the end against a rock to form a point, which would take hours they didn't have. Then he'd have to learn how to spear a fish - and by the time they all got that far, it would be dark, and there wouldn't be a fire, and they'd be fishing in the dark.

And this was why no one cared that Mike had taken over leadership duties. Without a word, Micky trudged into the forest in one direction, while Peter went in another.

The good part about this forest at this point in history, was that when a tree fell, or lost a branch, or whatever else, there was no one else around to take it so they could build a fire of their own. It actually wasn't hard at all to find a pretty good stock of dried out firewood, which Micky carried back to their little camp at the river's edge little by little. The problem with building a fire pit was that they'd have to make sure to hide all traces of it when they were done, whether by burying it or throwing it in the river or whatever else they could think of. It already annoyed him that they were leaving footprints with modern shoe treads, and that it didn't really bother any of the others that this was happening. Even though it didn't seem like such a big deal, it was all kind of like throwing rocks in a pond. The ripples you made were small at first, but they got a whole lot bigger.

He feared that when they got home, entire scientific timelines would have chanced. He could just picture the headline in their daily newspaper: 'NEW EVIDENCE PROVES THAT CAVEMEN WALKED WITH DINOSAURS… AND THAT THEY WORE GROOVY SHOES.'

Micky couldn't help a chuckle at that. Maybe changing the future wouldn't be so horrible if it was little stuff like that, but it still felt like he was here in a prehistoric jungle, committing fraud.

When he returned from his third or fourth trip into the woods, Micky noticed that Mike was already trying to rub two sticks together to start a fire. "Hey, you know that never worked when we were kids," he said. 'cuz who hadn't tried to start a fire in this way at least once in their childhood?

"Yeah, well," Mike replied. "I wasn't as determined to make it work back then, was I?" He stopped for a moment, rubbing his forehead. "Jes' set the rest of what you got over there in that pile." He pointed to a stack of branches and kindling a few feet away from the firepit, before he went back to trying to spark some sort of flame.

"You gonna invent the wheel while you're at it?" Micky couldn't help asking. Mike's reply was to throw one of the sticks he'd been using at his curly-haired friend.

"Hey, it's not funny," Davy said. The shorter young man sat nearby, watching Mike's endeavors. "I dunno 'bout you, Mick, but I don't want all the creatures in there…" He paused, pointing to the forest, "Coming to look for us when it gets dark. They'll be scared of fire, I bet."

"You HOPE," Mike corrected.

"We need any more, Mike?" Micky asked, before Davy could argue the point. There wasn't any need to bring negativity into their current situation. "'cuz once I sit down, I don't think I'm gonna be able to get up again." He was still trying to be hopeful that Mike would be able to start a fire at all. They had a lot of firewood, but he wasn't sure if it'd last the night.

"Nah, it's all right. Why don't you help me with the whole tryin' ta light it? 'cuz I'm not havin' much luck."

"Don't know what else I'm supposed to do that you haven't tried yet," Micky said, grabbing a couple sticks out of the pile. He went to sit down next to Davy, initiating the undeniably long endeavor of creating enough friction between two pieces of wood in order to get them to create fire. He'd never really thought much about the physics behind something like this before, given the fact that, in the past, if anyone needed to start a fire, they had a lighter for that. Now here they were with no fuel and a longshot. At least they were in a fairly temperate region, which hopefully wouldn't get too cold when the sun went down.

More out of frustration and exhaustion than a sense of failure, Micky quickly gave up and threw the sticks at the river. "Look, it… It should have worked. We should have ended up in the future, guys. I don't even know what went wrong."

The random timing of the statement caused Mike to stop what he was doing, and both he and Davy looked at Micky. After a moment, Davy leaned over and bumped the despondent boy's shoulder with his own. Neither of them said that their situation was 'okay,' because it most decidedly was not okay. Not even a little. At least if they'd ended up stranded in the future, they could have made due, getting on with their lives despite the culture shock they might have initially endured. Here, they had nothing, and everything around them probably wanted to eat them.

With a sigh, Mike reached over and gave Micky's knee a pat. "Let's just keep workin', okay? We'll figure out what went wrong a little later."

The drummer-turned-time-traveler stood up to get another couple sticks, then noticed Michael's guitar propped against the tree. THE STRINGS! The metal would conduct more heat, and they'd be able to start a fire much more quickly! Now, all he had to do was get to it without Mike seeing anything.

As casually as he could, Micky sauntered over to the wood pile, allowing the seconds to tick by until Mike had engaged himself in his work again. When their fearless leader's attention was fully back on starting the fire, Micky detoured over to the guitar, assessing which string would be right for the task, and deciding that the thickest 'E' string probably ran the least risk of snapping.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have turned his back to the others as he reached for it.

With the force of a train, Mike tackled the string thief right to the ground, and Micky, suddenly afraid he'd been attacked by a dinosaur, began to yell.

"GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT — off — Mike, get off of me."

"Look, you are not brutalizin' Blondie unless their ain't no other options," he admonished, fire in his eyes. Getting to his feet, he crossed his arms. "If that's your idea of helpin', you can just stay over here."

With more bruises added to his already growing collection, Micky sprawled. "Gladly," he breathed, closing his eyes.

About that time, Peter returned with an armful of things he'd collected from his trip, which meant Micky actually had to push himself back up into a sitting position so he could take a look. The bass player set their dinner down, which included a whole lot of leaves, a few mushrooms, and a single fairly large egg.

"Sorry it took so long," Peter said. "There was a triceratops - I think that's what it was - in there, so I was watchin' what it was doing, and when it moved on, I took a little of everything it was eating 'cuz I'm guessing that it knows what won't kill it."

Every once in a while, Peter did something so smart that it made the others wonder if he was some sort of undercover savant. They looked at each other, eyes questioning, before Micky shrugged. "Hey, as long as we don't let him prepare anything, I'd say he had a pretty good idea." Of course, the triceratops might have been able to stomach some things that a human wouldn't be able to keep down, but they'd take whatever help they could get.

"Then I was coming back," Peter continued, oblivious to their surprise, "and I tripped over a nest, and this was in it." he picked up the egg again. "And it's a little weird, but I figure food is food - Mike, what are you doing?"

Mike had gone back to rubbing sticks together. He looked up at Peter with a very tolerant, patient expression in his eyes, and said, "I'm trying to start a fire, Pete."

Nestling the egg under his arm, Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. "Wouldn't this make it easier?" he asked.

Mike groaned, resting his face in his hands


	4. Chapter 4

"All I'm sayin'," Mike argued, sitting upwind from the fire's smoke, "is that you could have told us you had a lighter when we were first talkin' about lightin' a fire."

They sat around a pretty decent-looking blaze, protected from the darkness around them by its brilliant glow. None of them could ever really recall being at the mercy of a fire to allow them sight; that was one of the first things they talked about. With Micky living in California all his life, he rarely went without some sort of city light to guide him. Davy agreed, stating that Manchester was well-lit, and Peter couldn't ever recall being in a complete black-out back in the Village. The closest anyone came to having been in complete dark was Mike out in the Texan desert, but he said even then, he had a flashlight and plenty of batteries to make sure things stayed bright.

"Aw, c'mon, Mike. It's not like we were playing with it for very long," Micky returned. He'd been lying on his back near the fire, letting the warmth sooth his aching joints and muscles and bones and probably his aching hair and teeth and fingernails, too - not one part of him felt unhurt. Even so, he wasn't actually injured, just sore. Thankfully, the fall hadn't broken or lacerated anything.

"What'd you say 'aw, c'mon Mike' for?" Mike asked, grinning. "You're the one who almost ripped apart my guitar. Imagine if I hadn't seen ya. We'd have one snapped E-string and nothin' to show for it."

Davy chuckled as he sorted through the things that Peter brought back. Everything fit neatly inside one of those giant leaves they'd seen earlier, although it all kind of had a medicinal stink to it. Micky said that he thought the leaf was related in some way to ginkgo, or, at least, that's what it looked like. Were that the case, it was probably not toxic, so it probably hadn't contaminated everything inside it. "One of us has gotta try this stuff 'fore the others," Davy said. "M'not sure I trust it all."

"I saw that dinosaur eating it," Peter said, still sticking to his assessment that if it was okay for a dinosaur, it would be okay for a human. "He didn't seem to upset. And look, these are okay." He pointed to the large amount of white-capped mushrooms he'd collected, which dominated the haul with which he'd returned.

"Well," Michael commented dryly. "Either we'll fill our stomachs or wind up high as a kite. Or both."

Micky waved a hand, sitting up. "I'm more worried about the vomiting sick-as-a-dog aspect." He poked through the items Peter had collected, finding nothing more palatable than the mushrooms. Even then, beyond the smell of the ginkgo leaf, something seemed quite potently fragrant. Davy seemed to notice it, too, because he picked up one of the mushrooms and took a good sniff.

Turning away from the others, the Englishman gagged and sputtered, swearing quite profusely under his breath. "Oh. Peter. You carried those all the way back here?"

"We should choose for it," Mike said. "One of us has to try."

"Trust me," Davy returned. "We don't." He threw the whitecap in his hand toward the stream, and it hit the water with a soft 'ploop.'

One moment later, just barely highlighted by the fire, something jumped out of the water and grabbed it.

In a perfect comically-timed gesture, all four of them turned to look at each other, all with the exact same thought in their head. But how to use the dead-meat-scented fungus as bait for some nebulous fish in the dark waters of the Mesozoic? "Uh, okay," Micky finally managed, pushing past the hurt in his very bones and reaching for their stock of kindling. Pawing through it, he found a stick that had a reasonably sharp end, which wouldn't work at all for spear-fishing, but would work pretty good for what he had in mind. "Right, someone pass me one of those mushrooms."

Davy grabbed another one from the ginkgo leaf and tossed it to Micky, who speared it on the end of the stick. As he worked on what angle to use, which would best attract a fish from the ancient river, Peter picked up the egg again. Maybe he intended to add it to what would be a most amazing fish dinner, just as soon as they all stopped counting their chickens - or fish, in this case - before they were hatched, and just started angling. As he pushed himself to his feet, the drummer barely heard their light-haired friend say, "Uh. Guys?"

Grabbing the leaf with the rest of the mushrooms, Davy followed Micky to the water. All they could see at the moment was a black nothingness that caught the firelight once in awhile - just enough to give them the sense that a river flowed before them. It'd be too shallow near the shore, so Micky kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his socks, wading in. The water was cold, despite the ambient air temperature, but thanks to the humidity, it felt good against his skin. Luckily, whatever was hungry for mushrooms didn't also think his toes would make a good snack - at least, that's what he could guess thanks to the fact that nothing was trying to bite them off.

Mike, hands in his pockets, also wandered over to the riverside, hopeful. "Well? See if you can catch one, then."

Nodding, Micky slowly lowered the branch, mushroom-end first, into the water.

Seconds later, something splashed above the surface, practically pulling the stick right out of Micky's hands as it absconded with the bait. Surprised, Micky flailed backwards until he tripped on a stone and landed rear-end first in the frigid stream. Collecting himself and ignoring the laughter from Mike and Davy, he held his hand out for another mushroom. Davy obliged.

"Take two," Micky said under his breath, creating the same lure as before.

How long had it been? Two seconds? More? Experimentally, he held the mushroom into the water, and counted out loud: "One-one thousand, two-one thousand…" And without waiting for something to actually bite, jammed the stick down into the silt at the bottom of the water as quickly as he could. With surprise, he noted that he'd actually gotten something, and it—

"It broke the spear!" Davy called, squinting into the now-muddied water. "Oh! There! Micky!"

The injured fish splashed close enough to the shore to make itself easily observable, especially as it tried to get itself free from the branch. Given the fact that he was already re-soaked, the drummer took a dive at it, arms outstretched, and soon felt its slimy, scaly, disgusting body wiggling its way down his shirt.

He may have screamed like a girl.

And then, Mike was rolling him out of the river while trying to either rescue Micky or the fish - no one could really be sure which - while Davy attempted to liberate the stick from the fish's face. In the end, somehow, they ended up with a really, REALLY weird looking meal, and for all the work that went into getting it - and having it in his shirt - Micky sure hoped it was worth it.

Never one to be particularly squeamish, Mike took the sharp stick from Davy, crouched down, and ended the thing's struggle. "Mick, d'you happen to know what the hell kinna thing this is?"

Davy and Micky crouched down around the creature, too. Its body was a greyish silver, and it certainly was shaped like a fish, but had a few odd, broad scales on its back that almost looked like plates. It was large - definitely enough to feed all of them quite well - and looked like some experimental lizard gone wrong. "It's a coelacanth," Micky stated. "An ancient fish. They're supposed to be extinct now or somethin', but paleontologists have found skeletons—"

"Never mind that," Davy said, his stomach obviously growling. "Can we eat it?"

Taking its face in his hand, Micky reached into its mouth and pulled out the mushroom, tossing it aside. With a smile, he said, "yeah, now we can."

"Guuuuys…" Peter whined.

"Don't worry, there's enough for you, too, Pete," the guitarist said, picking up the fish. Micky wasn't sure how he was planning to prepare it, but he'd leave it to Mike, who added, "even though you didn't help none."

When they turned around, they could see why.

The egg, which was going to be part of their dinner, now sat cracked apart in Peter's lap. Its contents -

One baby dinosaur.

Like a newborn bird, it was still covered in the sticky gunk from inside the egg, though it seemed to be fluffing up again, its coat of downy feathers making it look more like a puppy than an ancient reptile. Its red eyes were focused on Peter as it made soft 'chp, chp' noises.

Quite abruptly, Mike dropped the fish, which hit the sandy shore with a dull thud. He and Davy stood with their mouths agape, while Micky thought he ought to take a better look at the little hatchling. As he approached, Peter shrugged. "I didn't— I mean, I picked it up, and—!"

Micky reached gently forward and picked the baby up, smiling. "I know you like to look for chicks, Peter," he said gently, as the baby tried to return to its 'parent,' "but this is a little ridiculous, even for you."

"Well, it wasn't on purpose."

Once the tiny dinosaur had settled down a little, Micky got a good look at it. In the firelight, it looked dark brown, but was covered with fine white dots, almost like a fawn. It had two blue patches around its brilliant, intelligent crimson eyes, which looked at Micky with careful trust and a bit of apprehension. The chick was clearly a dromaeosaur by its posture and grasping, somewhat dextrous foreclaws, but its identity came from the sickle-claws on each of its hind feet. "It's a little deinonychus," Micky said quietly. By that time, the other two Monkees had fallen out of their stupor and come to join him, looking over his shoulders.

Mike, with the coelacanth slung over his shoulders, drawled, "Well, congratulations, 'Dad.'"


	5. Chapter 5

All things said, the night wasn't horrible. Despite the threat of large creatures that could potentially be all around them at any given moment, Mike had picked the spot well. Surrounded by forest, there weren't a lot of huge dinosaurs who wanted or had any need to be in this clearing; the worst thing they saw were the horse-sized ceratopsians again, and they kept their distance because of the fire.

After a night of figuring out how to prepare a fossil-fish and playing with a very small young raptor - and discovering that the small young raptor could eat its weight in fish - they decided to set up a night watch. At least one of them would be awake to keep the fire going, and to warn the others up if anything larger than a mule wandered into their little clearing area. Micky had fallen asleep quite early in the planning stages of this venture, and Michael, quite sympathetic to the aches and pains the drummer must have been feeling from his fall, didn't even attempt to wake him. Instead, Mike volunteered to take his turn first, and Davy volunteered to go second. The two of them would get everyone through the first night, and then Peter and Micky could do the same tomorrow.

Sometime around three in the morning according to Michael's watch, Davy felt someone shake him, and awakened to find the tall Texan, backlit by the fire, standing over him. "Your turn, buddy," he whispered, so as not to wake the others.

Surprised he'd managed to fall asleep on the ground, Davy sat up, rubbing his eyes. He was sure that the situation and the discomfort and the whole threat of being eaten would keep him awake for certain, but he couldn't even remember thinking much about it after he lay down. Had he really passed out that quickly?

"Yeah, I'm up," he grumped, standing and stretching. His eyes still felt heavy, as if continuing to remain in any sort of relaxed position would put him right back into his slumber.

Mike reclined on his back, hands behind his head. "You sleep okay?" he managed through a yawn, closing his eyes.

"Actually, I did," Davy answered. "So, wake everyone up in …?"

"Six hours oughta do it." By now, Mike's voice was slurred and quiet. In another few minutes, it became quite obvious that he'd drifted off.

After stifling a yawn of his own, Davy shuffled over to the stream to splash his face and wake himself up. The night was cooler now, though by no means could it be described as 'cold.' Even so, the river water sent a chill through him that managed to bring him back to wakefulness. "'nother couple hours woulda been nice," he groused, although, since everyone was asleep, Davy really wasn't speaking to anyone in particular.

The next couple hours were filled with boredom. For a little while, he watched the little raptor sleeping, curled up in the crook of Peter's arm. For awhile, he poked at the fire with a stick, then, he made a few random doodles in the sand. After all that, he looked up through the canopy of leaves and tried to pick out a few constellations, before realizing that millions of years in the past, all the stars would be in completely different locations. Not only that, but without city lights, Davy could see thousands of stars, and in that sea of little twinkly lights, he probably wouldn't have been able to find any familiar shapes, anyway.

So, he sang.

Quietly, so as not to wake anyone up, he made up random lyrics and a random tune that he'd likely completely forget later. It started with a girl, and as the song evolved, Davy somehow ended up singing about a god-awful forest in the middle of nowhere, and then ended on a sour note about how much he hated sand under his fingernails.

"That'll be our first hit," Davy mumbled as he climbed to his feet again. Picking up a few stones, he approached the water and tried to skip them - only they weren't very flat, so they'd just kind of hit the surface and plunk right down to the bottom.

Some sort of shimmer caught his attention from downriver, just as he was about to throw another stone.

"Hello, what's that then?" he asked himself, squinting. By this time, the sun was just starting to rise, so the light provided him enough brightness by which to see. This shimmer appeared to be some sort of band of light, wavering in between and through the trees, apparently unaffected by shadow. It touched the shore, some fifteen to twenty meters away, whipping out narrow tendrils of light, which danced over the surface of the water.

He took a glance back at the others, who were all still asleep, then turned back to the shimmer. It almost looked like how he thought northern lights might appear, if they had a habit of colorfully weaving their way along the ground like polychromatic vipers in hues of pink and green. Dangerous? Perhaps. But Davy couldn't help taking a closer look.

The shimmer definitely extended farther down the river from its origin, back in the direction from which they'd come, in a comparatively narrow tunnel-like configuration. When he was close enough to touch it, the light parted, disappearing where his fingers made contact, then repairing itself a moment later. Honestly, it felt like nothing - it wasn't cold, or uncomfortable, or solid - so Davy felt perfectly safe stepping through the translucent curtain in order to examine it further.

Having expected nothing in particular, he was quite surprised to see the ghost of a city overlaid against the forest backdrop.

The vision disoriented Davy, and he had to stop himself from quickly backing right out of the scene which greeted him. Here, a road ran directly through the forest, complete with cars and people who passed him by - or traversed directly through him - without giving him a second glance. Where he was touched, he felt a sort of strange, lingering sensation on his memory, although the contact really lacked any sort of logical explanation. Furthermore, when he reached out in an attempt to initiate contact with one of these ghostly images, he felt the same thing, and couldn't seem to affect the others in any way. "Hey— Hey you!" Davy called to one gentleman, who ignored him completely, instead continuing on his way, until he disappeared through the light curtain.

Confused, and almost unable to tell what was real, the short young man tried to get his bearings. He reached out and steadied himself against a tree, which also happened to be a sign post, and stared down the tunnel at a sight that was becoming more and more familiar.

"This is Sunset. It's the Sunset Strip. What's goin' on 'ere, then?"

All around him - trees. The river. The sound of primeval animals looking for their breakfast. The fading crackle of the fire. And then, in his little world, Hollywood, lights, businessmen and actors, executives and skyscrapers that towered even above these ancient Cretaceous trees. Car horns, shouting salesmen and dogs barking as they towed their young masters down the sidewalk.

Seamlessly integrated.

He continued down the river/sunset strip, quickly getting used to the way that cars drove directly through him at breakneck speeds without even causing him a little bit of discomfort. Eventually, the tunnel curved off the main thoroughfare, heading down a side street they'd all used to get home before, and at the same time, back into the forest.

Realizing that he'd been walking for some time, he turned around to see that the little campsite in the clearing was now almost hidden from him among the trees. Not wanting to get lost, and figuring it would be just about time to wake the others anyway, Davy decided it was time to leave this vision and return to the fire. Besides, as the sky grew lighter, the vision became harder and harder to see, and if he wanted to wake Micky up and get a scientific opinion on what they were seeing, he'd have to hurry. Still, unable to help one last peek at the familiar Californian setting, Davy glanced over his shoulder to take in the lights and sounds of home.

Instead, he came face-to-face with one of the hornless triceratops critters they'd run into the day before.

Startled, Davy jumped backward, which spooked the dinosaur into rearing up and bellowing. In that moment, he could see that this gentle herbivore not only had quite an impressive set of teeth, but a pretty sharp beak, as well.

"Easy there, girl—"

The dinosaur bellowed again, swinging its head back and forth. The red spot on its crest caught Davy's attention.

"Fella? Fella, of course you are. You're not a girl. Easy there, buddy…"

It stomped its feet, breathing out a puff of air that stirred up the sand.

Davy continued to talk gently to it as he backed away, but it didn't appear that the creature was inclined to listen. For every step backward that Davy took, the dinosaur advanced two or three, until the short percussionist found himself so intimidated that he was off and running before he realized what he was doing.

A couple thoughts crossed Davy's mind as he fled - first, that this was a bad idea, since the thundering flat feet of the creature were hot on his trail. Second, he probably should have been watching the ground in front of him. If he had been paying attention, he probably wouldn't have tripped over the tree root that had grown up out of the dirt. He may have even escaped.

Instead, as he tried to get back to his feet, the dinosaur sunk its teeth into his calf. The pain hadn't even truly registered before he screamed, caught in a state of panic and desperation. With his uninjured leg, he lashed out, landing a good kick to the creature's nose. Immediately, it let go, backing away in confusion and wavering uneasily, watching Davy with wary golden eyes. Still spooked, it didn't seem particularly keen on just walking away and leaving the injured Englishman alone, as, of course, it had a family to protect. Strange creatures were threats to its mates and children.

As it grunted, gearing up for another mock charge, Davy tried to keep as still as possible, despite the fact that he could clearly see that his pantleg had turned a disturbing shade of red. Using his arms, he tried to put a little more distance between himself and the dinosaur, although the soft ground hindered his ability to get very far.

Suddenly, something very small leaped over his head, causing Davy to instinctively duck. He hid his face in the crook of his arm, and only dared look when he heard an angry 'SKREE! SKREE!' coming from directly in front of him. There, stomping its feet, feathers puffed up so much that it had doubled its size, was the baby raptor, ready to take on the ceratopsian that was at least a hundred times its size, if not more.

Having already dealt with one strange creature, the cow-beast, now having a noseful of predator-stink, turned around and shuffled off quickly in the direction from which it had come.

Once it determined that the situation was safe, the small raptor approached Davy, tucking its head under his chin.

"That's a good baby. Very good baby," he breathed, lying down and gritting his teeth. He didn't even want to look at the damage to his leg.

A moment later, the other guys reached him, having followed the baby raptor. Michael ran right past Davy, staring after the retreating dinosaur. Peter crouched down next to Davy's leg, and the baby raptor climbed up his arm and onto his shoulder. Micky, meanwhile, was looking around them, squinting.

"Is this Hollywood?" he asked.

Peter rolled back Davy's pantleg, looking at the wound. Steeling himself, Davy sat up to take a look, as well. It hurt like hell, but it didn't seem too bad. The worst thing about it was the number of punctures, not their depth, and that they bled quite liberally.

"I think so," Davy replied. "It was clearer before, heading that way." He pointed into the forest. By this point, the apparition of the city had already faded to almost nothing.

"Huh," Micky said.

Michael, having finished glaring at Davy's attacker, knelt down next to Peter. Without a word, he looked at the bass player, who shrugged. "It's not bad."

"Then let's get him back. Micky, help me carry him." Mike wrapped his arms under Davy's, hoisting him to his feet.

The shorter young man winced as he put weight on the injured leg, but found that it wasn't completely useless. "Nah, just help me walk, it's all right." He took a couple steps with Mike's help, finding the pain to be tolerable.

"Micky," Mike said again. "Mick, c'mon, what're you doin'?"

When Micky looked at them, he was smiling. "I know what's going on. I think I can get us home."


	6. Chapter 6

Michael managed to extricate a few discarded sleeves from his guitar while Micky went fishing again and Peter worked on building up the fire.

"Wonder what Micky was talkin' about…" Davy grimaced, wincing as Mike pressed a water-soaked cloth into the multiple tooth-marks just above his ankle.

"Dunno. We're takin' care of some stuff first, like gettin' you bandaged up," Mike replied, tossing the damp sleeve aside and patting the site of the injury dry with another. Since they'd returned to camp and sat down, Davy had been subtly complaining about the radiating pain from his leg, and Michael suspected that below the shallow wounds there could be stress fractures. Either short-stuff was a trooper when it came to pain, or he wasn't really feeling it yet. Either way, one thing from Mike's childhood that stuck out really clearly in his mind was when one of his cousins got her hand chomped on by a horse.

It didn't really look so bad on the outside, but under the skin, her skeleton sure took a beating.

"You're pretty good at this, Mike," Davy said.

The Texan looked up, offering his friend and bandmate a smile. As he guided Davy's leg through one open end of the sleeve, he said, "Well, when y'got people in your family that like to come up with new ways to make doctors think, you kinna learn the ins and outs of treating bumps and bruises."

A 'whoop' came from the river as Micky got into an argument with another one of the strange silver-grey fish while he wrangled it to shore. Mike rolled his eyes and went back to situating the field bandage around Davy's calf. "I think the critter that bit you just wanted you away from his women. Seriously, David, even a hundred million years in the past, you're tryin' to pick up girls. Well, I gotta protest this time."

Though he was smiling, Davy said, "Don't make me laugh, Mike, I'm too worn out. 'Least it wasn't me face."

"Heaven forbid. How's that feel?"

Davy leaned forward, giving the bandage a once-over. "Little tight, but feels okay."

"Not cutting off circ'lation or nothin', is it?" Mike pulled at the elastic, checking it. It felt okay, and the tighter it was, the less it would bleed - he hoped. That was the theory, anyway.

"It's all right." After a pause, he added, "The bright orange isn't really my color, though. Doesn't match me shirt. Could I get somethin' in a teal?"

With a smirk and another eyeroll, Mike got to his feet and gave the injured young man a pat on the shoulder. "You stay here for a bit. I'm gonna go help Micky get our breakfast on the fire."

As much as he was downplaying the severity of this situation, he knew that Davy's injury was a lot more serious than anyone wanted to admit. Micky had asided to him - jokingly - about how none of them knew what kind of crazy strains of germs lived in a dinosaur's mouth. And while they all laughed, Micky had briefly met Mike's eyes with an expression of unspoken concern. Not only did they have dinosaurs to contend with now, but they faced the threat of infection setting in, with no real way to treat it unless they got home. Additionally, there really was no getting around how much Michael hated ticking-clock plot devices used in fiction. This one just took the cake.

—-

Some time later, they all sat back around the fire, to which Peter added more dead tree limbs and logs and bark and branches until it had become a decent size again. In his forest travels, he'd also located an excellent crutch for Davy, and although it was far from perfect, it even had a little split area at the top where he could place it under his arm and lean on it. Mike took one of the remaining sleeves and made a cushion so it wouldn't be quite as painful, and it ended up working pretty well.

"I could only find one," Peter said contritely, as if he'd done something wrong. He held onto their little hero-raptor, who kept trying to wiggle out of his grasp to get to the recently-caught fish. At least the little guy wasn't afraid of the fire.

Davy was quick to respond, "No, it's fine, this is perfect, Peter. I'll be able to move a little faster at least, yeah?"

As they chatted, Micky was staking pieces of their meal on a branch. He'd mentioned to his guitar-toting companion that it would be much easier if they could just use one of old Blondie's metal strings on which to spit the fish, but after the homicidal look he'd been granted in return, Micky decided against it. Wise, Mike felt. If they were going to end up stuck here for any length of time, he'd go crazy if he couldn't play.

Once breakfast had been suitably skewered, Micky carefully balanced the spit between two piles of rocks - one on each side of the firepit. With the branch a couple feet of the ground, the fire would warm the meat, hopefully without burning it. "See, with the guitar string, we could have put it a little closer. Would have taken less— "

Mike glared at him again.

"…Time. Right. This way's just fine, too." With most of the appetizing bits cut out of the carcass of the coelacanth, Micky tossed it over toward Peter, who released the baby deinonychus from his arms. The little guy wasted no time in bounding over to it, clearly quite content at being left with the head, tail, and everything else that Micky found completely unappealing.

"That li'l thing's pretty smart. Saved me life," Davy said.

"Mighta just been reacting to dinner," Micky said, chuckling. "Y'know, doing what a predator's trained to do. I mean, even in our time, babies mimic adult behavior."

"Dinner, what, you mean me or that cow that was after me?"

"Davy," Micky said. "Everyone knows that Brits give dinosaurs indigestion."

"Ah, right, I'd forgotten." The injured boy contemplated this for a bit, then got the conversation back on track. "Thing is, you guys didn't see it, but the little guy really came through for me. A couple seconds later and I bet that cow woulda taken my leg clean off."

Their little hero looked up, tilting its head. One of the fish's eyeballs hung from its jaw.

"Oh, that's attractive, that is," Davy muttered, curling his lip. The baby dinosaur went back to eating. "What're you gonna call it, Peter?"

"Call it? You mean like, a name?" The blond crawled off the rock he'd been sitting on so he could park himself closer to the infant deinonychus. Gently running his fingers down the ridge of dark blue down along the baby's neck, he pondered the question.

Mike stood up, gesturing once back and forth with both arms. "No, Peter. You can't name the gosh-darned thing. If you name it, you're gonna wanna keep it, and we can't— "

"Fido. His name is Fido."

Sighing, Mike closed his eyes, muttering "Oh, Peter," under his breath.

"You can't name it 'Fido,'" Micky argued. "That's a dog name. You have a baby dinosaur."

"I can so name him Fido. It means 'faithful,' and he took care of Davy just like family."

After a moment of speechlessness, Micky managed, "How do you even know that?"

But Peter didn't answer. Happy with the name, and apparently unwilling to budge on it or give an answer to where he'd learned the meaning of the word, he scratched the spot just above the little raptor's tail. 'Fido' leaned into the touch even as he continued eating, and Peter chuckled.

"Are you guys even listenin' to me?" Mike asked. "I said, we can't— "

"Hey!" Micky cut Mike off before he could finish. Again. "Hey, I need to tell you guys about how we're gonna get home!"

Throwing up his hands in defeat, the reticent leader retreated back to his seat, and dropped back down onto the ground in what could almost be described as a pout. He even crossed his arms over his chest. Indeed, this battle had been lost. Unfortunately, it was only going to be harder when Peter finally had to let the thing go. Perhaps Michael could have a heart-to-heart with Peter a little later. With a subtle flick of his hand, he said, "Well, go on an' tell us, then."

"Groovy. Okay." Micky grabbed a stick, drawing a circle on the ground. "So here's what happened with the time machine. This is why we went back in time, and it's all kind of tricky, but stay with me for a minute."

He took a step back from the circle, scratching his chin.

A couple minutes passed, before Davy grimaced, getting to his feet, and limped over to Micky. He placed a hand on the other man's shoulder and said, "You really 'ave no idea what's goin' on, do you?"

"No, I do. I'm just tryin' to figure out how to sound like a genius when I say it."

Mike rubbed his temples. "Micky."

"All right." The drummer sighed, drawing another circle which intersected the first one. "So it's actually pretty simple. We didn't really go back in time at all."

"There's bloody dinosaurs tryin' to eat my leg," Davy argued. "Whaddaya mean, we didn't go back in time? Last I checked, there weren't giant lizards walkin' up an' down Sunset Boulevard!"

"Well, look. Let's just consider the fact that time itself is a dimension," Micky went on. "And usually we experience up and down, left and right, and depth, but there's also time. And we can't really see forward and back in time because for us lowly humans, it's completely linear. We don't really experience the full scope of it."

Mike sauntered over to Micky, looking down at the circles he'd drawn on the ground. "We don't really need the verbal textbook rendition," he said. "Innerestin' as it is, It's not helpin' us get home. How 'bout you give us the abridged version?"

"Well, we laid our own time over the past." Micky was grinning, despite the severity of everything. "We're still in California, nineteen-sixty-eight, experiencing the Cretaceous because I managed to figure out a way to bring the past to us. It's the whole dimensional aspect of time - just because dinosaurs don't exist anymore doesn't mean they don't still exist at a point in the past. We're… ah, I guess you could say we're in between one and the other. We just have to put ourselves back where we want to be."

"Sounds an awful lot like we went back in time," Mike drawled, crossing his arms.

"Well, yeah, I guess," Micky said. "But look, the important thing is, the time machine is still here with us. But we'll only be able to see it at dawn. Why dawn? I dunno, could have something to do with pathways into the— "

Mike held up his hands, halting another unnecessary foray into Micky's mad scientist mind.

"…Aether," Micky finished, scowling. "Fine. To get home, first we go back to the spot we arrived."

"Right, I got a question," Davy held up his hand, taking a couple halting steps closer to the others. "If we brought the past to us, how come no one else is screamin' about dinosaurs? I mean, when I saw all those people, they didn't even bat an eye when that thing attacked me."

"Cliff's Notes version, Mick," Mike warned.

Micky shrugged. "The machine's set to affect us. That's all. An' it's the same reason the dinosaurs aren't seein' anyone else other than us four. I mean, we're having an affect on their reality - essentially what we're doing is carving a path of the future right through the Mesozoic - once we break the connection, though…" He paused, attempting to snap the stick in his hand in half. All it did was bend a bit, though, until Mike took it, broke it in two, and handed it back. "Thanks. Anyway, once we break the connection, things'll go back to normal for everyone." Finished with the explanation, he smiled and tossed the two halves of the stick away from him.

Peter, still playing with the baby dinosaur, said, "You sure are smart, Mick. How'd you figure all this out?"

Micky hesitated, blew his hair out of his face, and said, "A lot of guessing."

By the time this was over, Mike was absolutely sure he was going to go completely insane. "You don't even know if this is going to work?"

"Look, there's a lot of excellent credibility to guessing!" Micky replied. "And it's the best shot we have."

Well, that certainly carried some truth, Mike thought, even as he shook his head. Even having a little hope could improve anyone's mood, and at the moment, they all really needed to know there was a chance at getting out of this place and back into their house where they belonged. Looking around at the others, he could tell that they were all a little worse for wear by this point, especially Davy, who was still on his feet despite having his leg chewed on. Then there was Micky, who still moved stiffly thanks to his fall from the day before, and Peter, whose eyes betrayed actual fear despite the excitement at having a little dinosaur as a pet. They were all dirty, their hair was sticking up in all directions and full of sand from using the ground as a pillow, and none of them had really gotten enough sleep.

But they were all looking at him now with hope, waiting for him to validate Micky's guesswork as a reasonable course of action. He reached up to rub his chin - and the five o'clock shadow that he and the others now sported - and said, "Okay. Let's do it."

—-

It was surprisingly hard to leave their little campsite, especially knowing that they were heading back toward an area where giant crocodilesauruses lurked, ready to add them gleefully into their diets. Davy had also brought up the fact that without the immediate convenience of the water next to them at all times, they could very well starve or become dehydrated. And even with Mike's assurance that they could probably just take a different path back and follow the river instead of traversing the forest, everyone seemed to view the camp as a safe zone. Anything outside of it carried an edge of danger to it.

After they ate, Mike put out the fire and Micky scattered the pieces of the fire pit in all directions so that the scientists of the future wouldn't wonder what prehistoric reptiles were doing roasting fish over an open flame.

The going was slow. Because of Davy's leg, they had to help him along, taking frequent breaks when the pain became too much for him to bear. Mike, guitar slung over his shoulder, looked back now and then to see the hollowness of his bandmate's eyes, and the sweat dripping down his forehead - not because of the ambient heat, but because fever-inducing infection was likely starting to set in.

Fido rode on Peter's shoulder sometimes, and on Micky's at others. The last time it had tried to hitch a ride on Mike, the tall Texan had glared at it so intently that it hopped right back off again, with an almost clear expression of apology on its reptilian face. Despite the fact that Mike felt it was a bad idea to keep carrying the little critter around, it did seem fairly smart for an apparently dumb animal. It never tried to bother Davy at all, for example, although if the injured young man got close enough, Fido would stick his nose into Davy's ear just long enough to make the short Englishman smile.

Once, when Davy needed a rest, Peter helped him to the ground. Mike motioned Micky ahead, leaning in close. "I really hope you're right about this, Mick. We're not gonna get another shot to try somethin' else."

Micky, clearly understanding, looked back at Davy. "It's sure taking him down quick, isn't it?"

"Micky, do you think this is going to work?"

"I don't know."

It was better than 'no,' but only just.


	7. Chapter 7

The river led them out of the forest, winding out onto fern-covered plains. The stream had narrowed here considerably, until it had become more like a creek with slow-moving, crystal clear water. They could see fish swimming near the bottom - some like the coelacanth they'd been catching, and others that looked a little more familiar. Far away, they could see a herd of grazing dinosaurs that Micky called 'parasaurolophus.' Once, they'd even seen a large group of long-necked monsters they all recognized; Peter called them 'brontosaurus,' but Micky said that they were probably brachiosaurs, given the time period they were in. Davy and Mike just agreed that it was just very cool.

It was all very beautiful, although without the shade of the trees around them, the sun seemed abnormally hot. Micky attempted to cheer them up by noting that having a sunburn from prehistoric times would be pretty neat, although his voice really did nothing to make anyone feel better.

"We shoulda just gone back the way we came," Mike said. "Woulda only taken us a few hours." He glanced back at Davy, who'd stopped to rest again. Even with the crutch Peter had made for him, staying on his feet was getting harder and harder. Even so, Mike had to hand it to their diminutive percussionist - he wasn't complaining, and he really, honestly tried to keep going as long as he could.

"Don't forget, mate," Davy said, out of breath. "We're still gonna have to make camp again before mornin' I'd rather be by this li'l stream here than next to -what was that thing again, Micky?"

He shrugged. "Not sure. Some sort of relative of spinosaurus, but it was pretty small. Doesn't mean anything, though, 'cuz I'm sure there's a bunch of dinosaurs that haven't been discovered yet. Hah. We mighta been the first to see a new species."

"Dangerous, though?"

"Oh yeah."

Davy nodded, leaning on Peter, who'd sat down just behind him. "That's all I need to know."

Mike, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, pointed across the plain to a rise in the topography, where a sheer rock wall cast shade onto the ground. "Guys, I think that's where we're goin'. The river opens up a bit in… Oh, about a mile, then I bet we'll find that hill Micky fell down right on the other side of that wall."

For awhile, they talked about where they'd make camp. Far enough from the irritating dinosaur that lived in the deep water of the river close to where they'd arrived, but close enough so that they could reach the apparition of home before it faded away in the daylight. They'd have to get closer before they decided on an exact place, but Mike thought the shady area under the rock wall looked fairly promising.

They heard a soft hooting nearby. High-pitched, almost like a songbird. At first, they thought nothing of it.

"Hey, why d'you suppose those guys out there don't have feathers, while Fido here does?" Peter asked. He was trying to keep the little dinosaur out of the water, but it seemed the little guy had become absolutely enamored by the fish. He kept trying to catch one.

"You mean the parasaurs?" Micky asked. "It's just like back home. Some animals have fur or feathers, others have scales. Don't forget, Peter, most of the animals around now are dinosaurs. They kinda have to fill every niche nature has to offer."

Again, they heard the hooting. It was fairly distant, back in the treeline some few thousand feet away.

_Euugh-oo. Weuu-oo._

Fido's head snapped up, a small fish in his jaws. He swallowed it whole, and then responded to the call.

_uu-ghoo. Euu-woo._

Peter, oblivious, said, "Hey, everyone, Fido's like a little parrot!"

Mike, however, was looking toward the trees. He could see their eyes - brightly-shining pinpricks, catching the afternoon sun despite how currently distant they were. They moved among the trunks, some stepping out into the light…

There were so many of them.

"Guys, I don't mean to alarm anyone, but we gotta get goin'. Peter, keep that thing quiet!"

"What's goin' on, Mike?" Peter asked, hoisting the little dinosaur onto his shoulder.

The adult deinonychus, having heard the return call of the little one, were all cautiously retreating from the safety of the trees. Rather than being cloaked in the dull colors of the infant, these were all quite spectacularly beautiful - half of them were a crimson red, while the other half were cerulean blue.

"Mick, help me with Davy," Mike said, his eyes on the deadly flock as he wrapped one arm under Davy's shoulder. Micky took the injured boy's other arm, and together, they pulled him to his feet.

By now, a group of at least twenty had gathered outside the forest, and the call came again.

_Eeeuw-woo. Hooo-woo._

Fido squeaked, but one look from Peter kept the little guy quiet.

But the flock was relentless. A couple of them hooted again, and when they received no reply, a bark-like call emanated from several in the group.

"Shall we run in terror, then?" Micky asked.

"Oh yes, let's," Mike replied.

Suspending Davy between them, Mike and Micky started off toward the rock wall in the distance, with Peter following close behind. It seemed like a horrible choice of direction, except for the fact that it was the only option they really had. To the left was the river, behind them were the raptors, and if they went right, Mike was absolutely sure they'd run into the very place where they'd met up with the giant dino-crocodile that tried to eat them minutes after they'd arrived.

"They're getting closer!" Peter cried. Mike picked up the pace, but given the fact that they were practically carrying Davy, they couldn't go much faster.

"Maybe there'll be caves in the rock!" Mike said, trying to sound hopeful. He could see a few darker areas - maybe somewhere they could hide until the pack of predators decided to move onto other things.

As they neared the rock face, though, it became quite obvious that the depressions he'd seen there were far too shallow for them to use to escape. They might be able to delay their demise for a minute or two, but ultimately, they'd fall prey to the deinonychus that were chasing them.

But it was too late to change their course. As they neared the cliff wall, some members of the flock branched off, closing them in from all sides and forming a semi-circle around them. Without any escape, the Monkees found themselves backed up against the rockface, with the entire pack of raptors looking far more dangerous and imposing than the small creature that was still perched on Peter's shoulder. Micky, never the brave sort, half-hid behind Mike as the dinosaurs cautiously closed the distance between them; Davy had let go of them both, and stood with one hand on the rock, the other on Peter's shoulder.

"Not ready to die," Micky whimpered.

Mike had nothing to say to that. Somewhere in his mind was a little voice urging him to tell Micky not to be such a wimp, but it somehow felt as it it would be a little hypocritical to vocalize it, considering his own knees were shaking. He couldn't even manage to say something profound, like 'it's been an honor working with all of you,' because his mouth was dry, and he felt like he was about to throw up.

One of the crimson deinonychus stepped forward. Her color was a little darker, much less showy than the brilliant blue creatures that stood here and there among the others. Still, despite this, she had the same blue patches around her eyes that Fido had.

She hooted softly.

Fido replied, wiggling excitedly on Peter's shoulder before he jumped off, onto the dusty ground. Peter tried to catch him, but as soon as he reached one hand forward, the crimson deinonychus snarled. The sound was so terrible, that Mike couldn't help a high-pitched squeal of terror.

The baby trotted up to its mother, and the two touched noses. It would have been sweet, except for the fact that it was only prolonging the inevitable. With nowhere else to go, the future looked pretty bleak and very painful. Perhaps with so many of them, it would all be over fairly quickly, although Mike couldn't help a glance down at the scythe-claw on the feet of each member of the flock. That would hurt, whether it ended up being over quickly or not.

The infant's mother turned, barking once to the others, who stirred restlessly. Some of them started forward, although they seemed confused by the appearance of their quarry, and never made it more than a few steps. Eventually, though, this dance would end. In preparation, Mike slung the guitar off his back, ready to use it as a weapon. He would mourn the loss of Blondie if they made it out of this alive.

The crimson leader finally leaped toward them, and Mike, the will to fight suddenly gone, turned toward Micky at the same time Micky threw his arms around him, and somewhere, in the middle of it all, one of them brushed the strings of the guitar and played a weak rendition of a chord.

A few seconds later, they found themselves uneaten. Curiosity getting the better of him, Mike peered over his sleeve to find the entire flock staring at him and the guitar.

Micky whispered, "Play somethin'," Mike!"

At the moment, he wasn't completely sure that he could. His entire knowledge of how to actually play the guitar had abandoned him in order to make room for all the terror. Even so, he forced his fingers to find the right frets, and played another chord. And another. Until he realized that he was playing 'I Wanna be Free.'

Micky tapped his foot on the ground and smacked the cliffside with his palm, improvising a drum beat. Eventually, Davy began to sing, and while his voice wasn't at its best, it wasn't horrible, either. Without a bass, Peter improvised a low harmony.

And the dinosaurs, completely still, listened.

One of them tilted its head. Some of them swayed in time with the music.

Had it not been a completely serious situation, the boys would have found it ridiculous and almost comical - here they were, playing a gig for prehistoric animals.

Were they animals?

As he played, he could see something in their eyes - an understanding, an appreciation of this unknown thing that they were hearing. The boys weren't just soothing the savage beast here, it seemed. They were introducing these thinking, feeling creatures to the wonders of music.

But the song came to an end, and Mike couldn't for the life of him, come up with anything else to play. Even as the crimson female with the bright blue eyepatches approached him, he couldn't make himself remember anything else from their library of songs. His fingers still grasped the neck of the guitar as if they were stuck there, as he finally came face to face with the large deinonychus.

She turned her head to the side, observing him, one red eye focused on his brown ones. How could he not appreciate the intelligence therein, even though he was sure he was about to die? Mike waited for it, anticipating her teeth around his neck - maybe, as smart as she was and as entranced by the song as she'd become, she'd do them all a favor and make their deaths quick and painless.

But then, he heard a chord.

He hadn't played it.

The dinosaur was looking down at the strings, one claw hanging off the bottom one as her eyes turned to Mike's fingers on the neck of the guitar. She grunted. Almost mechanically, he moved his grasp a couple frets downward, and the crimson female strummed the guitar again.

"…Clever girl," Davy said.

She continued to play with the strings as Mike moved his fingers. Eventually, together, they managed to put together an interesting melody; the female deinonychus apparently had an ear for music.

After a while, she either grew bored with the guitar, or decided she'd heard enough. Rather than make the boys into dinner, though, she turned and hooted at the others, who immediately turned and ran off toward the distant trees. Gently, she picked Fido up in her jaws, and with one last look back at Michael and his guitar, followed them away.

"What just happened" Mike asked, numbly.

"The coolest thing I've ever seen or will see in my whole life," Micky breathed. He slid down the rock face to the ground, closing his eyes and twining his fingers in his hair.

"Good thing we didn't rip apart the guitar," Mike said, relaxing slightly now that the danger had passed. "'else we'da been goners. Knew I kept her around for somethin'." Smiling weakly, he patted old Blondie, sitting down next to Micky. He elbowed the other boy, adding, "Next time ah tell ya we ain't pullin' the strings off my guitar…"

"Won't argue. I swear."

"Good."

Neither of them missed the fact that Peter was crying softly. Davy was gently rubbing the bass player's back.

"I knew I couldn't keep 'im," Peter moaned. "But— I didn't even get to say goodbye!"


	8. Chapter 8

Mike had been humming for the past half hour, until Micky finally realized what it was he was humming. But he let it go on for awhile, interested in this magical musical process that made their great leader so great at what he did - writing interesting tunes.

In the meantime, they consoled Peter on the loss of his little Fido, who, despite having a name that meant 'faithful,' had run off on the poor blonde boy. Davy mentioned that a growing kid needed his mum and dad, and Micky added that it's better that they parted ways before they got to the point where they'd be going home. After all, what would they have done in that case? Leave the poor baby in the middle of nowhere, with a demon crocodile lurking nearby?

"It's not the fact that he left, but the fact that I didn't tell him— " Peter paused to sniffle, "Tell him to be a good boy and wash behind his ears…"

"Dinosaurs don't really have ears," Davy noted, continuing to limp along. Because of his leg, his speed determined their pace. The others didn't mind.

"Oh, right," Peter muttered. "Well I didn't get to tell him I loved him, neither."

"I think he knows," Micky said, patting his distraught fellow musician on the shoulder. "Besides, I think I saw him wave as he was running off.

"Really?" Peter questioned, perking up.

He'd seen nothing of the sort, and neither had Davy, but that didn't stop the shorter boy from saying, "Yeah, totally."

"I guess that's okay then," Peter said.

—-

They walked on for awhile, along the winding river, closer to the place they'd arrived. It wouldn't be far now - at least, that's what Michael told them whenever one of them asked. Micky suggested they may have been going in the wrong direction, but Mike assured them that he had an innate directional sense that would lead them right back to where they'd come from. Of course, every time one of them inquired, their leader's answer would become less and less sure of itself, bit by bit, until Peter wondered out loud how far it would be yet, and Michael didn't answer at all.

He stopped walking, staring off into the distance. They'd passed the rock wall ages ago with no sign of their point of arrival. The river wound back in on itself time and time again, and the plains remained flat, without any sign of their hilly destination. By now, they were all sunburnt; Davy was worse for wear, and an hour prior, Micky brought up the fact that they couldn't see the forest anymore. There were a few trees here and there - small groves and whatnot - but they had departed from the vicinity of the woods where they'd camped the night prior.

It was as they approached one of the small clusters of ancient trees that Micky caught up with Michael.

"Look, you don't have to say it, Mike," Micky said quietly, patting his friend's shoulder. The guitar-toting young man winced, and Micky quickly removed his hand from the red burn that had formed there. "We'll just… Go back the other way. This time we can follow the river right back to the camp."

"We came all this way," Mike returned quietly, so that only Micky could hear. They both looked back; Peter was struggling to keep Davy upright, but the shorter boy wasn't complaining. In fact, he was doing his best to remain self-sufficient, despite the pain he must have been feeling.

They exchanged a Look. Lost in the Cretaceous, their best hope of getting home somewhere far, far behind them, and one of their number slowly succumbing to infection. This didn't look good. Micky patted Mike's arm again, despite the older boy's second wince of pain. "We need to stop for awhile." Micky finally said. "We'll just go the opposite way in the morning. It's cool - Peter and Davy won't ever know, I mean, Peter can't find his way around the block, and with any luck, Davy'll be too delirious to know we're backtracking."

Mike gave him a scathing look, and Micky backed away, holding his hands up. "I'm just sayin'…"

Mike nodded. At the very least, they'd been following a river, so they'd have water. Their camp would be out in the open, and they may or may not be able to build a fire. But the full moon that was rising above them would at least give them enough light to see by. After being chased by angry deinonychus and baking out in the sun, they all needed a rest, but they'd have to be careful. They weren't exactly protected around here. "We'll stay in there," Mike said, nodding to the grove of trees. It wasn't as dense as the forest, but it would do.

"Guys?" Micky turned, retracing his steps to Davy and Peter. He helped the blond with their shorter friend, each draping one of Davy's arms around their shoulders.

"Stopping for the night?" Peter asked hopefully. Mike happened to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They were so tired, ringed in shadow and highlighted with an ugly burn. The Monkees were falling apart physically and emotionally, and it hurt to see them all that way. They would have been able to get home tomorrow - if Micky's guesses were accurate, and God help them, they occasionally were - had Mike just picked the right path.

He couldn't tell them that less than an hour into their journey, he'd gotten his first inkling that they were on the wrong path. Micky was playing it cool, but Mike could see the irritation on the drummer's face; they met eyes again briefly as he and Peter practically carried Davy into the trees. It wasn't like Micky to lose his temper, though. Mike hoped that despite the aggravation, that quality would hold true, as the last thing they needed was an argument.

He looked at his guitar, sighed, and followed the others.

—-

They'd unanimously decided not to start a fire because of the proximity of the trees, as well as the possibility that it would attract animals, rather than repel them. Thankfully, the night was warm like the last one, and at least they had water to drink, even if they had to go hungry. There were a few things around they they could have tried to eat, but none of them really wanted to risk adding sickness on top of everything else.

None of them wanted to sleep; their hopeful mood from the previous night had dissolved into something more fatalistic. Micky had repeated that he didn't really want to die here, and Peter had taken it upon himself to ask Davy if he was okay every five minutes - or less. At least the full moon did provide enough light by which to see. If they'd had to spend the night in complete and utter darkness, their mood would have crashed right through the earth beneath them.

Mike looked up, staring at the moon.

His eyes remained there as Peter asked Davy, again, if he was okay.

He started to strum out the tune the raptor played earlier. She had unique taste, and Mike had a difficult time incorporating the F-sharp she'd played ten times in a row into the melody, but he'd done it. Of course, he'd helped write the thing, to be fair; he'd been changing his fingering on the frets, either because she'd been in the wrong position to do so, or because she trusted him to alter the notes she could play now and again. Mike had to smile to himself - if she wasn't a dinosaur, and if she didn't live so far in the past, she'd be his perfect woman.

Then, he started to sing the first thing that came to mind. Something about a circle in the sky that told lies.

A very extraordinary scene - F-sharp, over and over and—

He'd never remember all this tomorrow. He'd have to re-write it when they got home.

If they got home. They always made it home, no matter what.

Looks like they made it, once again.

He had the strange thought that the more he played it, the more it evolved. Appropriate, for such a song and the time period in which it was written. What would happen to these creatures? Why would they all die? Why wouldn't they persist, despite their intelligence?

Telling more than before.

He couldn't remember how long he'd played, but when he got the notion to look up, the other three were asleep, huddled together not too far away. Peter and Micky were supposed to take watch duty tonight, but Michael didn't have the heart to wake them up. They'd all been through a lot, and he had to accept the blame for it. The minute he started pointing at the others and tearing apart the strong bond they all shared, everything would fall to pieces. He had to hold them together, not only for their sakes.

It was for his, too.

He kept playing long into the night.

—-

Feeling remarkably rested, Peter opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Michael.

"Don't move," the Texan whispered. His light brown eyes were full of panic, despite the rather relaxed expression on his face. That was the thing about Michael - you could tell a lot, just by looking into his eyes! Peter rather liked that about his friend.

"Why, Mike—? "

"Hush, shh, just be quiet!"

Nearby, something grunted. The sound was an odd mixture of cow and lion, with a little parrot mixed in for good measure. Despite Mike's warning not to move, Peter, curious, turned his head toward the source of the noise.

He really wanted to shout, but Mike, anticipating this, had somehow placed a hand over Peter's mouth without the blond realizing it. As a result, the shout very closely resembled the sound made by the too-close-for-comfort dinosaur.

There were a herd of them, standing on two legs and milling about as if they were completely unaware of the humans in their midst. Every once in awhile, one of them would grunt and look toward the huddled Monkees, then go back to pruning the nearby vegetation. They weren't particularly large, but they had a bony dome on their head, surrounded by extremely wicked-looking spikes, which jutted out in all directions. Apparently, they were unnerved by the fact that their scenery happened to be waking up.

"M'gonna take my hand offa yer face. You gonna clam up?" Mike asked, his voice barely audible.

Peter really couldn't make any guarantees. After all, those things were awfully frightening. Still, with Mike's hand over his mouth, he was having a little trouble breathing. Resolving to keep as quiet as possible, he nodded, and Mike slowly removed his hand.

"What're we gonna do?" Peter whispered.

"Stay still an' hope they move on."

"What if they don't?"

"You and your questions. Stay quiet. I don't want you to wake up Micky an' Davy!"

Perhaps the mention of his name caused Micky to snort loudly, the sound disturbing the assembled animals. Their reaction wasn't quite the same as the triceratops-like creatures in the forest, though. Rather than forming up in a ring to protect the little ones, they started almost aimlessly walking in several different directions, as if searching for the source of the noise.

Peter could only see so much, though. He figured that something was really wrong when the panic in Mike's eyes - despite the cool, collected expression on his face - became utter terror. He also heard Micky moan, and a moment later, the drummer muttered, "What the—"

"Shh— SHH!" Mike warned.

Micky uttered an incomprehensible syllable. Peter chanced a look to one side, noting that one of the creatures was working its nose under Micky's shoulder, inhaling deeply to acquire the scent. Eventually, it stood up to its full height and honked.

Peter really hoped that wasn't dinosaur language for 'Let's trample these fellows.'

As it turned out, it appeared that the honking creature was telling the others that it was probably best to move on. The three conscious Monkees stayed absolutely still for the next several minutes to ensure that the entire herd had departed. Peter only knew it was all clear by watching Mike's eyes, which went from terrified, back to panicked, and then to relieved. When the danger had passed, he sat up, exchanging that same relieved look with the other two.

"Geez, where did they come from?" Micky asked, hand against his chest. "My heart's beating so fast, I feel like it's gonna jump right outta my body."

"They started movin' in a little while ago. I was gonna wake y'all up, but they were practically on top of us before I could. I figured if we all just stayed still, they'd pass us by, but then they started sett'lin' in for breakfast." Dryly, he added, "Luckily you woke up an' scared 'em off."

Micky stood, brushing himself off. "Yeah, whatever. Just you two pretend you don't see my knees shakin', and we'll be all right."

"Noted," Michael said, walking on his knees over to Davy. He gave the boy a gentle shake.

"Oh man," Micky said. "Me and Pete were supposed to stay up last night— "

"Don't worry about it," Mike said distractedly as he gave Davy another shake. "I was singin' anyway. Weren't no reason to wake you guys up if I was gonna be awake. Hm…" He grabbed Davy's shoulders and gave him a rather harsh jerk.

Peter noted a certain unease returning to the black-haired young man's eyes. Kneeling down next to Davy, just opposite Mike, he checked to make sure Davy was still breathing.

"He ain't wakin' up," Mike said with complete and utter calm. "Micky, could you get some water?"

Without asking questions, Micky grabbed a couple large leaves and headed out toward the river. Meanwhile, Mike and Peter continued trying to rouse Davy from his deep sleep. Eventually, Mike sat the boy up, feeling his forehead. "He's pretty warm…"

"Should we check his leg?" Peter asked.

Mike shook his head. "Won't do us much good to unwrap it, I don't think."

"Yeah, I don't wanna see it either," Peter muttered, shying away from it.

"Ain't what I meant. We only got the one bandage left…"

"Maybe now's the time to use it," Micky said, returning. He'd managed to keep a good amount of water in the center of the leaf, and poured it on Davy's head. As it dripped down, Peter noted that it was almost ice cold against his arm.

Eventually, Davy coughed, his eyes fluttering open. A moment later, he asked, "Why am I all wet?"

Mike smiled, his hands resting on Davy's arms in hug of sorts. He seemed to be considering Micky's words regarding the bandage, eventually asking, "How d'you feel, Short Stuff?"

"Like someone's got me 'ead in a vice, for one," Davy muttered. "Sore all over, sick to my stomach."

Mike looked up at Micky again, and the latter ran off toward the river, presumably to get more water. In the meantime, Mike rolled back Davy's pantleg and began the delicate process of removing the makeshift bandage made out of Peter's orange sleeve.

In the entire time since he'd been bitten, Davy hadn't cried. He hadn't called out in pain or even made a big deal out of the hurt he must have been feeling. At this point, it must have been impossible for the British boy to continue his stoicism. From the moment Mike began to peel off the cloth, tears sprang to Davy's eyes. Halfway through, he finally lost his battle to keep from making a fuss, because the quiet squeals and grunts of pain became nothing short of the most heart-breakingly haunting howl of distress that Peter had ever heard.

Micky returned to find Davy whimpering into Peter's shirt, while Mike carefully avoided eye contact with either of them. Dazed, Micky kneeled down and held the leaf to Davy's lips; Peter hoped it wasn't toxic in some way, though it was a lot like the leaves they'd been using for… various purposes… all along. As Davy drank, Peter reassured him - "It's okay, Mike's almost done, hang on, just another minute…" Until the bandage was off and cast to the side.

It looked bad, but not dire. The leg was swollen and very red, but Peter - perhaps optimistically - felt that he'd seen worse. Granted, he hadn't seen many injuries at all, let along ones that had been caused by dinosaurs, but he felt confident in assuring Davy, "See? It's not that bad."

He didn't miss the look Mike and Micky gave each other.

Mike tore off a bit of his shirt, soaking it in the water still remaining in the leaf. "This is gonna hurt," he cautioned Davy, before setting himself to the task of cleaning out the wounds.

Peter felt woozy. In fact, his vision started closing in on him, and he felt the ground tilt up toward him just a bit. He was surprised and comforted when he heard Davy's voice, choked and pained as it was, repeating his own words back to him. "It's okay. Mike's almost done, Mate, just a little while longer…"

"You never had a strong stomach, did you, Peter?" Micky asked, a little bit of humor creeping into his voice.

Peter shook his head. "When it comes to this stuff? No."

Mike continued to work. As time went by, either Davy became numb to the pain or his leg was actually starting to feel better - no one was sure which. Even so, after they got a dry bandage on the wound, Davy's forehead felt a lot cooler to the touch, and Mike sat back, mopping his brow with what was left of his shirt.

"Look, guys," he said. "I wasn't gonna tell you this, but you deserve to know. We've been goin' the wrong way."

"Michael!" Micky began, but Mike held up a hand to quiet him.

"The bad news is, we gotta cover a lot of ground today."

Peter's face fell. All along, the thing that really kept his hope alive was that their leader knew where they were going. He had to believe that, since, after all, Peter himself couldn't find his way anywhere. It was for that reason that he wasn't allowed to borrow the Monkeemobile unless someone was in the passenger seat along with him. He tried to keep what he was feeling off his face, but unlike Michael, Peter wore his heart on his sleeve. And even if all of them had removed their sleeves some time ago, it still held true that he couldn't really hide what he was feeling from the rest of them.

Mike had seen it.

He looked toward the ground, pushing himself to his feet. "The good news is, we can make it home in one more day. I know we can. Look, it's gonna be okay, guys. It's overcast, so we're not gonna have to fight with the sun, right? We'll follow the river back. Twenty-four hours from now, we'll be back in the pad, safe and sound. That's it. Twenty-four hours. We won't stop until we've made it."

Peter couldn't help asking, "You promise, Mike?"

"Yeah, Pete. I promise. I'm gonna get you all home."


	9. Chapter 9

Micky should have been more surprised when Mike pulled him aside and asked for a little help. Instead, he just felt relief.

Ever since he'd started suspecting that the taller young man was leading them in the wrong direction, he felt a slowly building irritation that he carefully hid - as always - behind his optimism. There came a point, though, when Micky couldn't take it anymore, and all the anger he'd been holding back for the sake of the others would come crashing down on Michael like some big rockslide and destroy the uneasy peace among them. Micky really didn't have a temper to speak of; he had no idea how to be angry or lash out at other people. He had the feeling that the others thought it was comical when he finally broke, but he really didn't mind, given that if he could bring a little humor back into any situation, it only made things better for everyone. Even so, just as soon as he was going to snap for certain, and in a very bad way, Mike repaired the damage.

"Look, I need you to tell me if somethin's wrong. Okay, Mick? You think we're goin' the wrong way, you speak up, and I'll listen. Dig?"

Micky nodded dumbly, which drew a sincere half-smile from Michael.

Mike went on. "Now, I was up all night. I ain't at my best."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Micky frowned, crossing his arms. Out of all of them, Mike had gotten the least sleep. Typical, but the drummer couldn't really say he was sorry. He _liked_ sleep.

"Don't matter now. Anyway, while you were all out, I got an idea." He looked over at Peter, who was trying to help Davy stand. Unfortunately, their English bandmate couldn't put any weight on his injured leg. "We gotta carry Davy. I could prob'ly figure somethin' out myself, but you're the one who builds things…"

Micky rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and you always tell me…" He raised his voice somewhere into the falsetto range. "Take that stuff outside, son! Ain't no room for that in the house!"

"C'mon, I don't sound like that."

Smiling, Micky pointed to his head. "You do in here, Michael. Like a nagging old— "

"Hey, c'mon, I asked for help! At least have the common decency to spare my pride anymore shame."

Micky rolled his eyes back, finger still tapping his head. "There it goes again— What were you saying?"

Mike sighed tolerantly, ignoring the slight. "We gotta build a sled of some kind. Somethin' we can take turns haulin', or carryin', or whatever. And we gotta do it fast. I mean to make it back home tomorrow mornin' at the latest. If what we've seen is true, we got a real narrow window to reach your contraption and get ourselves back to our time."

Micky nodded.

Mike's shoulders slumped in a very defeated fashion, but Micky only had to wonder why for a moment, before the other man lifted the guitar off his back and handed it over. Micky took it without a word. The only thing Mike said before he turned away was, "When you break her apart, make sure I ain't around to hear it."

—-

Micky tried to make the sled without destroying Blondie, but he couldn't. He needed the wire especially, because, unlike what he'd seen in every jungle movie ever, there were no vines to use to conveniently tie everything together. Once he'd done that, it was surprisingly easy to make short work of Mike's beloved guitar.

In the end, with the materials he had at hand, as well as a few dozen tree branches he'd been able to attain, Micky successfully fashioned a triangular bed in which they could pull Davy. He'd made it pretty quickly, so it wasn't exactly perfect… After all, he had no paper on which to make plans, no ruler to measure things out, and nothing with which to cut the branches or the wire. The thing was sturdy, though, and it would hold for a good amount of time. Using branches as runners and the bits and pieces of the guitar as the center platform, it almost looked professional.

When he showed it to Mike, Micky asked, "D'you wanna have a funeral for the old girl before we go on?"

The silence the followed was the entire service.

"C'mon, let's get goin'," Mike said.

Peter and Micky helped Davy onto the sled. Their injured friend was definitely out of it, but still had enough of his wits about him to protest being hauled around. Given that they all kind of wanted to get home, though, eventually, Davy relented. An argument then ensued regarding who would have the responsibility of pulling it. Mike tried to insist, but Micky made the irrefutable suggestion that someone who hadn't been awake for almost a day should do the work.

So the task went to Micky and Peter, who did it gladly.

That left Mike to bring up the rear, carrying Davy's crutch, just in case something happened to the sled.

"You think he'll hold up?" Peter asked, looking over his shoulder.

Micky looked back, as well. Davy was curled up in the sled, as comfortable as he could make himself, while Mike followed a few paces behind. "Who, Davy?" Micky asked.

"I meant Mike," Peter replied.

Micky shrugged. "He always does okay, you know that. He made a bad call. It's all right. At least he said somethin' before we kept going for a whole 'nother day."

Truth be told, it wasn't like Mike to admit he was wrong, and Micky was a little worried that he'd try to make up for the error in some way. So far, though, the day was without incident, and they were making good time, as well. If they kept up this pace, and that seemed like a good possibility with the relative coolness of the day and the lack of direct sunlight, they'd reach where they needed to be by tomorrow morning. Hopefully, they'd be able to see the rip in time between their present and the Cretaceous, which would mean they'd be able to see the time machine, which would allow them to go home.

Somehow.

That machine currently existed as their point of origin, though. Their home. The direct connection between this time and the other. Logically - at least to Micky - that would mean that it would have corporeal form in both eras. If he was wrong, well… He didn't want to think about that. One problem at a time.

"What about Davy?" Peter asked. "You and Mike keep giving each other this look, like something's wrong."

Micky sighed, throwing his back into pulling the sled. He still hurt all over, but at least the movement seemed to be loosening his muscles a little.

"Davy's sick, isn't he, Micky?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you know… There's certain germs that existed way back, well, _now,_ I guess. Our bodies don't have the ability to fight 'em off. Without medicine, things aren't looking so great."

Peter glanced back over his shoulder again. "You can't fix him?"

Micky shook his head. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"But Mike…"

"Mike knows how to clean and bandage something like that. You know, he had a pretty big family back home. I guess they got their share of scrapes and stuff, but this is a little different, Peter. The most he's doing is giving Davy a little more time." Somehow, it felt wrong to be so direct and forthright with Peter. The boy had a decent head on his shoulders, but always seemed to want to fit the pieces of knowledge he had together like a jig-saw puzzle. The problem was that Peter wasn't any good at puzzles. That left a bunch of gaps in his understanding of things, although maybe it was on purpose. Who wanted to be constantly saddled with bad news, after all?

"We better get him home, then," Peter resolved.

—-

It started to rain a little while later.

Far from putting a damper on their trek, though, the drizzle actually eased their sunburn and made the sled a little easier to pull. For awhile, the only thing they could hear was the sound of the runners gliding through the muck, as well as their own heavy, tired footsteps. But as they drew closer again to the forest, the hoots and chirps of the surprisingly non-lethal dinosaurs within reached their ears. It was almost a comfort to the boys, because it meant that they were on the right track, and moreover, that they were almost where they needed to be.

Mike insisted on taking over sled-hauling duties for Micky after the drummer managed to trip himself up on the wet ground several times. There was no mistaking that Micky was struggling, and also starving, so he relented without too much of a fight. Actually, he may have fallen on purpose the last time, just to see if he could get Mike to take over, and after his little stunt worked, he found himself mostly bored.

Davy was awake, but didn't feel much like talking, so Micky walked near the edge of the forest, just under the canopy enough to keep the rain off him for a little while. In the grey dreariness of the day, he spotted something growing between the trees that would have made him leap for joy if he wasn't so exhausted.

When had berries evolved? The Cretaceous made sense, but these looked exactly like raspberries. Maybe they were toxic. Toxic relatives of raspberries that would cause him to lose whatever contents he had left in his stomach, which at this point really wasn't very much. Micky was no expert on paleo-botany, but if these things weren't edible, he'd eat his own shoe.

Seriously, he'd eat his own shoe. He was that hungry.

"Guys! Hold up a sec!" he called. The sound of Michael's poor guitar sliding through mud immediately ceased, and a moment later, Peter and Mike were looking over his shoulder.

Micky tugged on one of the branches until it snapped free from the rest of the bush. Holding it up, he asked, "What do you think?"

He could tell what the other two were thinking, just by watching their expressions. Peter looked hopeful, almost desperate. But Michael…

"No. Absolutely not. You said it yourself, Mick. We can't be sure of _anything._ They could be poisonous." He turned away, starting back toward the sled. Peter's shoulders drooped, and he gave Micky a pleading puppy-dog look.

"I'll try it first," Micky offered. He reached for the nearest raspberry look-alike and plucked it free from the branch. Before he lost his nerve, he stuffed it into his mouth.

"Aw, Mick! Don't make me give you the 'you dunno where that's been, so spit it out' speech! C'mon," Mike chastised, turning on his heel and heading back. "The last thing we need is for you to drop down dead 'cuz…"

Micky made a big show of chewing. Tasted like a raspberry.

"Micky, I swear— "

He opened his mouth to show everyone that the morsel was gone.

With both hands, Mike ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "All right, you two." He turned to look back over his shoulder. "Davy, we're takin' a break here to see if Micky kicks it."

Davy was already attempting to push himself to his feet. "What'd 'e do this time?" he asked, as Peter ran to help him. Together, they hobbled over to the treeline and out of the rain.

Mike gestured to Micky, who was already sampling more of the mystery fruit. "Oh, consuming potentially dangerous flora."

"Nothin' out of the ord'nary, then," Davy said. He sat, leaning against a tree. Since the rain wasn't particularly heavy, it hadn't yet been able to pervade the thick canopy, and the air was neither too cool nor too warm. If they hadn't been lost in the Mesozoic, it would have been an ideal day for a picnic.

"I'm not dead yet." Micky provided a quick status update, eying the branch, which had been cleaned of all berries. "I wonder if the leaves are edible."

"If it _is_ a raspberry, sure," Davy said. "You can use 'em to make a nice tea."

"Yeah but— " Mike began. Too late, though. Micky was already chewing on one. "Who's gonna carry _you_ if you keel over?"

"Would you just trust me, Mike? If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck…"

"If y'haven't noticed," Mike snapped, grabbing the branch and tossing it out of Micky's reach, "Where we are now, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it could be a dinosaur."

Micky pondered this, then tugged another branch free from the rest of the plant. "Look. I'm not sick yet. It's been what, five minutes? We'll be fine. Mike." He met the Texan's eyes and said again, "Trust me."

In the moment he hesitated, Davy took the branch and pulled off a couple leaves, sniffing them before trying them, himself. "Mm-hm. This is raspberry. For sure. I think we're okay, Mike."

While Davy stripped the branch of its leaves, Peter pulled off the berries. It wasn't long before they had the branch completely bare. Michael leaned against a tree, arms crossed, looking away.

To be fair, it was hard for Micky to really be frustrated with Michael. Out of the four of them, he was the most cautious, and for good reason. Despite their nearly-identical name, Micky was Mike's polar opposite, and usually the one to get them into trouble rather than out of it. Case in point? Their current situation. Mike must have been feeling pretty helpless - there were no phones here, no real shelters, not another living, sentient soul to drag them out of trouble. "Look, Michael," Micky began. "If we all die from eating wild Cretaceous raspberries, I'll take the blame. But you're gonna pass out if you don't eat somethin'. _Trust. Me._"

Snapping off another branch, he handed it to Michael.

"You'll take the blame, then," he drawled.

"Promise," Micky replied.

Rolling his eyes, Mike finally caved.

—-

An hour later, not a one of them was ill, and they all felt a whole lot better. Mike estimated that they were about an hour from the place where they'd camped the first night, which put them - if his guess was correct - about two hours from the hilly landscape where they'd arrived. Because of the sled, they'd made the trek back in about half the time it had taken to go so far off course, which meant they could sit for awhile without worrying too much. Besides that, they wouldn't be able to get the sled through the trees, so they'd all have to rest up a bit before helping Davy walk the last leg of the journey. No pun intended.

Mike suggested they leave the sled, but Micky freaked out over the very idea. What would archaeologists say if they found parts of a Gretsch guitar dating back to pre-history? No. They'd break up the sled and take it with them.

As Davy and Peter napped, Mike stood out in the rain, looking up the river and into the forest in the distance. They'd travel into the trees in less than an hour, probably, then it wouldn't be too long before they'd reach their destination. It'd get dark before then, but that was okay. As long as they were out of the forest by the time the sun set, everything would be fine. Of course, Mike was counting on everything between now and then going perfectly, which seemed to be the best way to invite disaster upon them.

Micky came up beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Look, I didn't mean to overrule you or anything back there."

"Nah, I meant what I said. Y'gotta tell me if ah'm bein' stupid. Davy's not in any condition to do it, and you know Peter. He just kinda goes with the flow."

Micky shoved his hands into his pockets and just stood there, and it took Mike a second to realize that he was glad for the company. As alone as they were out here, he really didn't want to completely separate himself from the other guys. "Guess I goofed up pretty severely, huh?"

"Pff. Maybe you do have perfect sense of direction, Mike," Micky said. "It's just, we're hangin' out on Pangaea now, so maybe the magnetic what-cha-ma-callits that help you find your way are all backward or something. Y'know, if we were in California, you would have taken us in the right direction, I bet."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The rain started falling harder. Behind them, Peter and Davy worked on turning the sled into a lean-to. Really, Peter did most of the work while Davy, barely awake, benefited from the results.

"Mike?" Micky asked.

"Mm-hm?"

"Are we gonna be all right?"

It always amazed him that no matter what he did - or didn't do, in this case - the other guys still looked to him for guidance. He hadn't really put himself into the task of being the so-called leader of the Monkees. Things just ended up that way. He was certainly practical, but he lacked certain qualities the others possessed - Micky's spirit, Peter's heart, Davy's tenacity. As solo acts, they might have never made it on their own.

"When I was in elementary school, they taught us somethin'," Mike began.

"They had schools in Texas?" Micky interrupted. When Mike gave him a Look, he smiled and shrugged. "Honestly, I thought Texas was just miles and miles of desert. And cactus."

"Would y'cut that out? I'm tryin' to bear my soul here! It's difficult enough without you bein'… Well. You."

"You have a soul?"

"Dammit, Micky…"

Micky chuckled. "Sorry. Sorry, go on."

"Am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been."

"Gazuntite?"

"Nah," Mike growled, waving his hands back and forth once. "They're state of bein' verbs. They've been goin' through my head since we got here. You know, they used to teach 'em like that so you knew how to conjugate 'to be.' I am, he is, you are, et cetera. One of the things I remember clearest. Couldn't tell ya _when_ I learned it, but it's stuck up in here."

He pointed to his matted, jet-black hair. In the rain, it fell all the way to his shoulders.

"So, what about it?" Micky prompted.

Mike idly scratched at his chin, fingernails catching on the two-day-old beginnings of a beard. He wasn't sure how to put his thoughts into words gently, other than by using some sort of convoluted metaphor. The last thing he wanted to do was dampen anyone's spirits, the rain notwithstanding. "It's all present or past. Ah could add helpers like 'will,' you know. But they're not part of the word. It's separate. Like you have to earn it. There's no future."

They listened to the sound of the downpour for some time, saying nothing. Finally, Micky patted Mike's shoulder again and said, "We'll earn it. Don't you worry."


	10. Chapter 10

"Do y'see anything yet, Micky?"

"Nah, not yet, Pete."

The four boys sat looking out at the hill where they'd appeared, the forest to their backs. In the clouded moonlight, they could still see the pieces of the floorboard that they brought with them scattered along the ground - something Micky wanted to try collecting before they went home, just in case it could possibly find a way to survive for millions of years. Leave nothing behind was his motto, and he meant to follow through. Despite this, he was sure they'd left a sleeve or two lying around somewhere, which would possibly bother him for the rest of his life. He wouldn't express his thoughts to the others, but he was also quite worried about never making it home at all - not because he'd miss twentieth century California, but because he worried that if they all grew old and died in the Cretaceous, they'd completely turn science upside-down when their fossils were discovered in some hundred million years.

The only solution? They'd have to throw themselves into a volcano. Excruciatingly painful, but probably pretty effective at preserving the future.

"How d'ya even know this thing Davy saw is even gonna be here?" Mike asked. He worked on breaking apart the sled, occasionally hugging a piece of the guitar to his chest whenever he thought the others weren't looking.

"You mean the apparition of the city? I don't." Micky shrugged, squinting toward the place where the time machine would be. "You remember those two circles I drew? That was my best guess about what we're gonna find."

"Hold on a minute," Mike said. "What do you mean, with the circle thing?"

"That Time is a constant presence. Just because we've moved past a certain point in history doesn't mean it's un-happened. We're existing in two times, and they're overlapping." Micky paused, looking up at the moonlight, before grabbing a splinter off the now-broken sled. He drew a more three-dimensional, cylindrical illustration of the two circles in the dirt, showing them intersecting, their top planes very close to each other. Through these, he drew a cube, and pointed to it. "This is us. We're in two places, and I know that because of what we saw. We literally have to exist in two realities right now, as we speak."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Peter asked.

"I saw something there that told me there was a way to get home. You know. Probably. It's when it all came together." Next to his illustration, he drew a date. "This is the day after I fired up the time machine. I saw it on a newspaper some guy was reading when we followed Davy into that view of the future. Which means we saw one day into the future, which means, in order for us to have seen it, we must exist one day _after_ we left."

The others stared at him blankly.

Micky rolled his eyes. Time was complicated. "Just… Believe me on this one. Right now, we're in a matrix between two time periods. We're just more in this one than that one at the moment, and I think the time machine's binding both together. That means it's gotta be here."

"Matrix sounds like a good name for a movie," Peter mused.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Davy mumbled. The poor boy was much worse for wear at this point. Although conscious and very aware, he was completely worn out and lying on his back in the wet dirt. At least the rain was gone.

Micky glanced at the scattered flooring again before nodding. "Yeah, why?"

Rolling onto his side, Davy gestured into the dark. "That big rock over there. I don't remember it bein' there."

Micky could, indeed, see a big grey lump just past their point of arrival, but they hadn't really been paying attention to their surroundings when the time machine chose to bring them here, because the flying reptile they'd spotted was much more demanding of their attention. "Part of the hill, probably."

"Micky," Davy said.

"Mm-hm?"

"Why's that rock breathin', then?"

They didn't have time to ponder the horrible truth of what a breathing rock meant, because that was the precise point when the first hints of a new day began to light up the sky. Immediately after, a bright, meandering curtain of light began to radiate from the exact point they'd been standing when they first arrived. It snaked all around them, through them, encompassing them in the early morning light of both the Mesozoic and the Cenozoic. The dichotomy startled Micky for a moment as he realized they were staring at their own house in front of them, sunken partway into the hillside. Through its transparent walls, he could see the monstrosity of the time machine, clearer than everything else and shining like a beacon.

"C'mon. We're not gonna have long. Let's do this." Mike got to his feet, helping Davy to do the same. Peter helped, too, taking one of Davy's arms and wrapping it around his shoulder.

Their English friend wasn't as enthused, though. Pointing at the 'rock,' he whispered, "That's the giant, ugly crocodile that tried t'eat us before!"

"Then let's do this _quietly,_" Mike growled.

All they had to do was push a button.

Should be easy.

Micky realized a moment later that the others were waiting for him to take the lead, a prospect which the drummer found most uncomfortable. He wouldn't necessarily call himself a coward, but he generally didn't volunteer himself as a leader in situations with any element of danger involved. Why couldn't the beast have been down in the river, where it belonged? What was it doing up here on the hillside? With his luck, Micky thought, it was probably waiting for them all to return. Even ancient reptiles liked an exciting and exotic culinary tidbit once in awhile.

He met Mike's eyes, and received an almost imperceptible nod in return. Stepping around the others, Micky crept toward the time machine, his eyes never leaving the sleeping dinosaur, which, in the pale morning light, was starting to resolve from a colorless grey lump into the bright green beast they'd seen a couple days prior. It's toothy face would have been perfect for catching fish, but the sharp claws on its forelimbs would have ensured that it could really tear anything apart that it felt like eating. Including four Monkees.

But the creature continued sleeping soundly, even as they neared the machine. Standing only a few meters away, Micky could see every detail of its worn skin, every tiny scale that dotted its hide, and the brighter spots along its side. Sharp teeth poked out of its jaw at every angle. It looked so out of place as it appeared to sleep inside their kitchen, which was superimposed over the mossy prehistoric ground.

"Micky!" Mike hissed.

Tearing his eyes away from the sleeping giant, Micky focused on the writing, painstakingly written on the machine's cardboard casing in pink crayon, that said 'Emergency Use Only.' Really, it wasn't for an emergency at all; instead, the button it labeled would cancel the distortion of time around them and bring them home.

He looked at the others for just a moment. They were all so tired. Mike had the bits and pieces of his poor, destroyed guitar slung over his shoulders, tied together with the guitar strap; Davy was so pale that he almost could have double as a ghost. In contrast, Peter seemed to have suffered the worst sunburn out of all of them, as his face was lobster red. With a weak smile, Micky reached for the button.

And his hand went right through it.

Stunned, he tried again. The machine seemed perfectly solid in front of him, and yet, he couldn't touch it. Nothing he did allowed him to make contact with it.

Taking note of the problem, Mike tried the same thing, with the same result. Then he swore, uttering a word that none of the others had ever heard him say.

So startled was Micky, that he stepped backward. As luck would have it, his heel managed to catch Davy's injured leg, sliding along the injury in just the wrong place. Consequently, Davy let out an involuntary cry of pain, which, of course, rattled the nearby carnivorous terror out of its slumber.

Opening one golden eye, it focused on them.

"We … we gotta get back to the forest!" Mike yelled. With Davy still draped between himself and Peter, it took a moment to get everyone turned around, and by that time, the dinosaur had pushed itself to its feet. Despite not being the largest creature, it still stood taller than Michael by at least a couple feet, and probably weighed a whole lot more, too. In summary, it was the most terrifying thing they'd ever seen, and it wasted no time in pursuing them.

With a grace none of them would have ever believed possible, it stepped past the machine, tail brushing against it instead of through it. The dinosaur could _touch it._

"Holy cow, did you see that?!" Micky exclaimed. Mike and Peter looked over their shoulders at the same time, which turned out to be a mistake. Without looking where he was going, Peter missed the rock jutting out of the hill in front of him and tripped, taking Davy down with him.

Before Micky could even register what had happened, the beast was upon them. They could smell its rotten breath, and its teeth couldn't have been more than a foot away. Micky was sure he screamed, and he knew Peter did. Davy, still in pain from the fall, was nearly in hysterical tears.

But somehow in the middle of it all, Mike had managed to regain his balance and sling the broken guitar off his shoulder. With a force that would have been impossible without a good amount of adrenaline, he swung it around and completely splintered it against the dinosaur's face.

Their pursuer stumbled and wavered. Then it roared.

"I think y'made 'im mad, Mike," Davy grunted as Mike tried to help him back up. Frustratingly, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, though, and it took forever to get the shorter boy to his feet. When they were finally moving again, it felt as if they were trying to run through tar or something. The trees were so far away, and with every step they took, the forest seemed to grow more and more distant. The dinosaur was already chasing them again; they'd never make it.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the monster's long snout just inches away. Instinctively, Micky dropped to his knees, covering his head with his arms and waiting for his painful end to come.

But it didn't.

He heard the hooting and screeching first. When he dared to look up, he was greeted with the glorious sight of their entire flock of raptor friends leaping upon the killer crocodile, filing out of the trees one after another to push the beast backward. With the weight of at least a dozen of the smaller creatures on top of it, their adversary struggled to remain standing, its legs eventually giving out under it. As it rolled down the hill toward the river, the deinonychus flock jumped off, hissing and snarling in warning, until it splashed into the water.

It roared again, but the flock was quick to close in. With such a clear and present threat, the larger dinosaur finally decided it was better to sink below the surface to soak its many wounds.

Micky took a breath, finally, looking at the others. Much like Davy had been all along, they were all pale at this point, staring wide-eyed at their unlikely saviors, who were returning to them back up the hill.

Mike pushed himself to his feet, legs very obviously unsteady, meeting the crimson female leader of the pack as she neared them. Tentatively, he reached out a hand, and when she didn't react to this, he very gently stroked her neck.

She responded by butting her head against his chest. Mike responded in turn by giving her the most unlikely hug to have ever happened in the history of all of time.

"They musta heard us yelling," Peter said, standing.

At the sound of his voice, one more raptor wandered out of the trees. Already larger than he'd been the last time they saw him, little Fido wasn't yet too big to jump into Peter's arms, nearly knocking the blond right back to the ground. Ecstatic, Peter wrapped the little hatchling in his arms, ruffling his downy feathers.

"Good thing they did," Micky said, unable to suppress a very relieved chuckle. He was hesitant to cut the reunion short, but the day was getting lighter now, and they only had a couple more minutes to get themselves home, at most. If they waited another day, Davy could get sicker. Or, they could be eaten by angry river monsters. "You guys, follow me. Peter, bring Fido with you."

The crimson female and a couple of the other raptors followed them as well, obviously disturbed by the strange combination of the hillside as well as the little portions of Hollywood that surrounded them. Still, they must have formed some kind of trust through the music, because they didn't seem particularly agitated.

Micky took the raptor chick from Peter, cradling it in his arms for a moment, before setting him down on the surface of the machine.

"You say your goodbye, Pete?" he asked.

Wiping a tear away, Peter nodded.

The others stood around him. Michael was practically carrying Davy at this point. Their proximity to the machine was almost perfect.

Meeting Fido's eyes, Micky looked at the button, then mimed pressing it. His hand went right through it, which caused the little dinosaur to tilt its head. After Micky repeated the gesture one more time, it was as if a lightbulb turned on above Fido's head, and very deliberately, he stepped onto the button.

Like before, the transition between one time and another was instantaneous and without any sensation of having traveled at all. One moment they were surrounded by a ghostly image of their home set among the trees, and the next, they were physically there in their own living room.

The stress which had been holding Micky on his feet for the past day finally evaporated, and he sank to his knees, laughing.

—-

Their first order of business was to get Davy to the hospital. They made up a story about him being bitten by a wild boar while they were out hiking and managed to get him treated without too much fuss. He had to stay overnight, but it wasn't long before he could go home with his leg wrapped in clean bandages from his ankle all the way up to his knee. The infection responded quite well to the antibiotics, and Mike even got compliment from the attending doctor on his field dressing skills.

It would leave a nasty scar, but at least the damage wasn't permanent, and, as Davy stated again, at least it wasn't his face.

Despite the fact that they'd ended up leaving pieces of their floor and bits of Mike's guitar in the Cretaceous, Micky couldn't find anything in scientific history which hinted to the fact that things that were supposed to be modern had been carbon dated to the previous era. Likewise, there were no mentions of human footprints dating earlier than when they were supposed to exist.

Micky wondered if the raptors had hidden all evidence of their existence after they left. Maybe they knew. Maybe it was all just lucky.

Life got back to normal. The time machine was disassembled, and with Mike's urging, they threw all pieces of it into a bonfire on the beach one night and burned it. Even though it was probably the greatest scientific discovery of their time, Micky determined that the risks of hopping around in time far outweighed the benefits. Perhaps, he thought, when he was older, he'd revisit his invention in some other form.

It appeared they'd dodged any bullet related to changing the past and affecting their own present.

It wasn't until months later that Micky, who still casually checked various scientific-related periodicals for any inkling of their prehistoric adventure, finally happened upon an article that made his jaw drop.

"Guys, check this out," he said, opening the _National Geographic_ to the middle. The others gathered around him, looking at pictures of some rather interesting fossil imprints. One in particular seemed to be a very thin series of strings - they looked like vines or sinew - stretched out in a very deliberate pattern. It was certainly no guitar, but the intention was clear.

Micky flipped back a couple pages, pointing to the title of the article.

"Dinosaurs Invent Song," Mike read. "Well. Can't say I'm too sorry, Micky."

"Creates a little bit of a paradox," the drummer said, scratching the back of his head. He let slip a half smile. "Mike teaches 'em how to play. They, in turn, create instruments. So what came first, the Nesmith or the Deinonychus?"

Mike shook his head, picking up the magazine, and meandered off to read the article.


End file.
